Moonlight Shadows
by Liveforthedream
Summary: A betrayal of trust, an abuse of power, a promise of secrecy, and an alliance no one saw coming. Severus/Hermione. All Warnings apply.
1. Chapter 1

**First shot at a HP fic so please, be nice. I'd appreciate all the help I can get with proper Harry Potter terminology or holes in the plot. Thanks and I hope you enjoy and review!**

**WARNING: THIS STORY DOES NOT PICK UP TILL ABOUT CHAPTER 8 SO I BEG OF YOU - GIVE IT TIME. Other than that - mentions of rape, graphic torture, violence, explicit language, death and destruction. AU but not OOC. **

_**Another note: Fifteen chapters later and I realize: I really do not like the first chapter at all. Right now I'm solely concentrating on keeping the story going, but eventually I do plan on going back and fixing this first chapter. So please - don't judge my writing by this first chapter. I like to think I've gotten better as I continue. **Thanks, and enjoy!_

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_Between the idea __and the reality _

_Between the motion __and the act_

**_There falls a Shadow_**

_-T.S.Eliot _

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**Chapter 1 – Tonight**

Long shadows cast by the moonlight moved eerily in the silence and an unusually cool breeze flitted through stale July air. The moon was high in the dark night and the sky starless, the earth quiet and still. It was the witching hour – a time of power and darkness that called to lost souls and tainted innocence: the misled and the broken, the betrayed and the foolish, the ambitious and the feared. It was to them the darkness called and it was they who answered to the darkness. It was the Dark Lord's favorite time of night.

A figure that seemed to blend into the night suddenly shifted, his robes sweeping soundlessly back as a long pale hand emerged from its sleeve. In the figure's fist was the long smooth length of a dark wand; he smiled at it chillingly before bringing his wrist up and running it almost lovingly across the marked skin of his forearm. It burned, glowing slightly – his mouth curling into a sickening smile that spoke of malice.

There would be screams tonight. And pleas for mercy. But he had none to give. For that was the consequence of failure.

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Severus Snape was in the middle of reorganizing his storage closet in the dungeons when a sharp, familiar, burning pain suddenly shot up his arm, causing him to lose his grip on the jar he was currently holding. He watched in dismay as it fell and shattered upon the cold stone floor. Cursing audibly, he whispered a quick Evanesco over his shoulder as he swept out of the room, his left arm clasped tightly against him.

He made his way hurriedly to his private chambers and grabbed three potions from his personal stock to shove in the deep pockets of his long sweeping robes. A Pain-Relieving tonic, a Blood-Replenishing potion, and a phial of Dreamless Sleep were hardly adequate enough to battle the after-effects of a Death Eater revel, but it was the best he could do. The sound of his dark dragonskin boots echoed in the empty chamber as he made his way across the room to his antique wardrobe. Throwing it open, he reached to the very back and felt around till his fingertips brushed the familiar outline of his Death Eater mask. Pulling it out, he stared with loathing eyes at the small object in his hand that had caused so much pain in his life.

The mask was white and its surface cool and smooth except for the deep groove that ran diagonally across the surface from a Sectumsempra curse gone astray. The empty eye holes of the mask seemed to stare into his soul; he hastily shoved it in his pocket and made his way out of the dungeons.

Snape scowled as he pushed open the great doors of the castle and hastened across the hilly grounds. He could only imagine what the Dark Lord had in store for tonight: a little torture to remind them of their place, or perhaps he would go into one of his maddening rants as he prowled the circle looking for weaknesses, or, perhaps worst of all, he might have acquired entertainment for his Death Eaters. Snape's hand clenched into a fist; those were the nights where self-loathing threatened to drown him and he honestly questioned whether it was all worth it.

It was only the hope that he might save one unfortunate Muggle girl, one innocent child, one nameless face, from the horrors that happened within that circle that kept him returning to the Dark Lord's side. He hoped it was enough.

Upon reaching the outskirts of the Hogwarts boundaries, Snape quickly pulled out his wand and tapped it lightly on the burning tattoo that marred the pale skin of his forearm. Almost immediately the world seemed to spin and Snape found himself pulled from the school grounds and thrust unceremoniously forward. He stumbled only a step before he gracefully regained his footing and eyed his surroundings.

The landscape was remote and uninhabited, the grass dry and brittle with a couple sparse trees littering the area. Pulling his mask from his pocket, he vaguely noticed the glow of a town in the distance and the faint sound of rushing water far to his left. He spied the Death Eaters already formed in a circle near a stand of trees and quickly stalked over to take his assigned position within the ring of the Dark Lord's followers.

The air was thick with apprehension and as Snape neared he saw why; the hunched figure of someone unknown was lying twisted and mangled among the dirt. The Dark Lord was standing over him with his wand raised.

The alabaster face of the serpentine man rose as he noticed his latest arrival and his face twisted into a malicious sneer.

"Ah, so the spy has returned to us," the Dark Lord hissed softly and Snape unconsciously checked that all his Legilimency blocks were in place as a shiver ran down his spine.

"Yes, my Lord," he said, his head bowed in reverence, "the blocks surrounding Hogwarts are as troublesome as ever. I beg your forgiveness for my tardiness."

"Granted," the master hissed back and Snape felt his skin crawl in response, "but do so again and we shall be listening to your screams."

Snape nodded his understanding and bowed low. "You are too kind, my master."

The Dark Lord ignored him and turned back to face another member of the circle. "Lucius, clean up this piece of filth," he commanded, indicating the twisted heap of flesh before him. The Death Eater obediently stepped forward to take care of it and the Dark Lord began walking slowly around the circle.

"This is the cost of failure," the Dark Lord said softly, his voice carrying in the silence. "I feel I have been too lenient in these past weeks. That time has now passed; I will not tolerate failure. Failure is weakness and there are no places in this circle for the weak!"

His declaration was met with silence.

"Remember what fate befell your brother, and remember what fate shall befall you," he said, his voice laced with venom. "Do not fail me."

A murmur of 'yes, my Lord' swept down the circle and the Dark Lord turned away. "I need only my chosen ones. The rest of you get out of my sight."

Almost at once there was a myriad of small popping noising as the members of the outer circle fled the revel, Apparating away to safety. Snape almost scoffed under his mask, They thought that was terrifying? They had not seen the Dark Lord terrifying.

He remembered a time when he had been young and petrified at his first few gatherings; and then the Crucios had become second nature to expect, the pain only a reminder that he was still alive. They would learn that the dead did not feel pain, and then they would be thankful for it. Shaking off reminiscence of the past, Snape stepped forward to meet with the rest of the inner circle. Masks were removed to reveal Malfoy, Lestrange, Nott, Goyle, Dolohov, Pettigrew, Rookwood… the list went on to include a collection of scorched and charred souls.

"Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, "I hear you have some news to report."

"Yes, my Lord," Snape replied, his voice one of the obedient subordinate as he dropped into a low bow. "Dumbledore recently came to me requesting the use of my skills as a Legilimens."

The Dark Lord cocked his head in interest.

"I believe this is one of his final tests, my Lord," Snape continued with mock enthusiasm. "The old man wishes for me to teach the Potter boy Occlumency. I am almost assured that after I complete my task he will finally allow me entrance to the Order."

Voldemort seemed to consider this for a second, his hand slowly caressing his forearm as he pondered the implications of his spy's report.

"Then you will teach him, Severus," he said slowly. "But tell me, has the boy any natural aptitude for the art?"

The Potions master didn't bother to suppress his snort of cold amusement. "As always, the boy is hot-headed and lacks self-control. I have no doubt the lessons will only further weaken his mind and spark his temper. Dumbledore continues to coddle the boy into thinking he is powerful, yet the truth is that he will not stand a chance against you—"

"I have no need for you to tell me what I already know, Severus," the Dark Lord suddenly snapped. "You have answered my question, now be silent." Snape inwardly sighed in relief as his master turned away to address Lestrange.

"Have you gathered the information I require?"

Lestrange paled abruptly under the Dark Lord's gaze. "M-my Lord," he stuttered, and dropped to his knees to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes. "P-please, please forgive me—the Order, it is well hidden, no one knows where it is, I have searched my Lord, used every resource I have, I—"

"Crucio."

Snape's outward appearance didn't even flinch as the sound of screams filled the air. He could tell that Lestrange was fighting the pain—it was the body's natural instinct to fight it and Snape almost pitied the poor fool. The trick was suppressing the instinct to resist the curse and instead allowing the pain to flow through you; Snape had mastered the skill when he was twenty years of age.

The Dark Lord broke contact from Lestrange's withering form and allowed the gasping man a break as he lay weakly in the dirt.

"Get up, you filth," he spat before turning away to address the circle once more. Lestrange pulled himself unsteadily to his feet to return to his spot.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord called and a tall, lean figure detached itself from the circle to bow before him. "Have you found any ways to hurt the Order? I trust you, one of my most trusted Death Eaters, have at least something to report."

"Indeed, my Lord," came the confident drawl of Lucius. "I have been observing the Order closely these past couple of weeks, and while their location still remains hidden, their weakest links are often left wide open for attack."

"And what might that be, Lucius?" the Dark Lord sneered.

"Their cubs."

Snape felt a prick of alarm go through him.

"While they are not necessarily children anymore," Lucius continued, "the Order's newest recruits are young—impulsive, hotheaded youths who do not think before acting. It would be quite easy to lure them into coming out from the Order's protective shields—"

"They why have you not done so?," the Dark Lord snapped.

"The Mudblood."

Bollocks, Snape thought.

"Explain yourself, Lucius," the Dark Lord demanded.

"Potter is the golden boy of the little group, their power. Weasley is their loyalty and strength. But Granger is their logic, their rational. Without her, they would be reduced to a bunch of hotheaded teenage boys; she balances their irrationality with reason. It is my proposal, my Lord, that we throw off the balance."

The Dark Lord's bloodless lips twisted into a sickening smile and Snape felt something like panic rise in his chest. They were going to go after Granger.

"Granger," the Dark Lord purred and turned back to face Snape. "Tell me, Severus, is the little Mudblood pretty?"

Snape's stomach involuntarily turned and he fought to keep his voice even as lewd snickers filled the air of the circle.

He gave a disgusted sneer. "The insufferable know-it-all? I suppose she is common at best. Bushy hair, buck teeth, and a loud, shrill voice are not exactly desirable traits."

Lucius interjected. "Severus, you're remembering the image of an eleven-year-old girl." He turned to face the Dark Lord and raised his wand. "If I may, my Lord?"

Voldemort nodded.

"Remembro," Lucius murmured and a grey mist shot from his wand to hover in the air above the circle. Soon an image appeared reflected in the silver mist. Snape realized it was actually a still image from Lucius's memory of the battle at the Department of Mysteries. Granger stood captured in the mist, her clothes rather askew and her hair wild as she pointed her wand at Lucius. Cocking his head to the side slightly, Severus tried to look objectively at the girl before him.

Not a girl, he realized, his eyes sweeping down her plain t-shirt and Muggle jeans, but a young woman. It was painfully difficult in the snug Muggle clothes to ignore the delicate curve of a woman's body, the subtle brush of firm breasts against the plain cotton of her shirt, the small defiant tilt of her chin as her caramel eyes blazed.

So this is what regular men see, he thought, ruefully admitting that the obnoxious wand-waving chit had long transformed into a rather comely young woman of sixteen. Stray wisps had escaped the rather severe bun to tease the column of her neck and the color, Snape realized, but not one of brown as he had long ago written off, but of beaten gold and copper mixed in with strands of light chestnut. Her mouth was pursed as if she were about to curse Lucius into oblivion and Snape found himself hoping that whatever spell she had unleashed, it had found its mark.

"You see, Severus," a voice suddenly said, pulling Snape from his reverie. "Not quite the shapeless first-year you once knew."

Snape shrugged indifferently. "Far be it for me to deny the obvious fact that she has matured, but that incessant mouth of hers will be enough to wish you'd killed her on the spot."

Lucius sneered cruelly and his eyes sparked with malicious intent. "Don't fret, Severus, I'm sure we could fine something to keep those pretty lips of hers busy."

Something snapped inside Snape and he was sure his body was rigid as a board as he fought to keep his temper in check. You will not ever touch her! his mind screamed and he balled his hand into a fist.

"I'm sure you could, Lucius," he managed to say tersely.

"I applaud your plan, Lucius," the Dark Lord hissed, a cold grin appearing on his face, "you will be in charge of finding a way to remove her from the picture. I don't care if you abduct her, kill her, or simply break her emotionally, but you are to find a way to isolate her and keep her away from Potter and his foolish friends."

The tall man bowed. "It would be my pleasure, my Lord."

"And Severus," the Dark Lord continued, "you will help your fellow Death Eater in any way necessary. You know the Mudblood, therefore, you know the best way to hurt her."

Snape bowed stiffly and muttered softly, "As you wish, my Lord."

"Perfect," the Dark Lord murmured softly. "Now, you all have your assignments. Be quick, be silent, and do not show weakness, my Death Eaters; I will not accept failure."

With a final hiss and the glint of maddening anticipation in his eyes, the Dark Lord Voldemort vanished into the cool night. Similar sounds of the Death Eaters Disapparating sounded around the circle till only two lone figures remained in the darkness of night. Snape watched as Lucius finally removed his milky white mask and tucked it fondly into the pocket of his Death Eater robes. Following suit, Snape removed his mask and came to stand near his long-time comrade.

"You asked to speak with me, Lucius?" he asked without preamble. "What is this about?"

"You heard the Dark Lord, you will assist me with my task."

"I am neither deaf nor dumb, Lucius," Snape replied, his voice icy with impatience. "I heard. Just tell me what to do and I'll be there."

"Very well," Lucius replied, and then turned to look Snape directly in the eye. He could feel the brush of Lucius's mind as it probed his awareness and he stared unblinkingly into Lucius's cold blue eyes. Apparently satisfied, Lucius broke eye contact and continued. "I have been watching the Order for weeks, specifically watching the shift changes for the guard that watches the Mudblood's parents—"

Snape's stomach rolled sickeningly.

"—the plan is to kill off the mother. According to our sources, the girl is closer to her father, and use him as bait to lure her out from the protection of the Order. The Order's member's are spread thin, and the house is usually unguarded for about ten to fifteen minutes. The plan is to disable the wards--that's your specialty--Stun the mother, grab the father, and set the house on the fire before the replacement guard shows up. A magical fire shouldn't take more than ten minutes to eat up their pathetic excuse for a house, so there's no chance of the mother escaping. After that, it's just a matter of sending the little twit a picture of her father and sitting back to wait."

Snape swallowed hard. He had to warn the Order and get Granger's parents to a safe house immediately. There was no question in his mind that the little Gryffindor princess would run right into Lucius's hands in exchange for her father. She might be the brightest witch of her age, but she was also a typical, self-sacrificing Gryffindor. No, he couldn't let Lucius get to her parents first.

"When are you planning to act?" he asked, hoping desperately it was at least a couple weeks from now. They'd need time to smuggle the Grangers out of the country and set them up in a safe house, and at the moment the Order was indeed spread thin. They needed time.

Lucius smirked. "I have the location of the house, the time for the guard switch, and an outer circle team on standby simply waiting for my command. There is no time like the present, so how about tonight? What do you say, Severus?"

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_**REVIEW!**_

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**By the way, if you happen to see any spelling/grammatical errors throughout the story, it would be greatly appreciated if you could just leave a message or review and let me know. I can always go back and change it real quick because I know how frustrating it is sometimes to try to read a story that has a bunch of mistakes in it. Thanks guy, enjoy the story. **


	2. The Necessary

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_Between the conception and the creation_

_Between the emotion and the response _

**_There falls a Shadow_**

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**Chapter Two - **

In the suburbs of muggle London sat a modest two story house with a neat front lawn and blooming flower beds. The house was dark and quiet when suddenly a small popping noise jerked Julian Granger from her sleep. Sitting up abruptly as she shoved her wild dirty-blond locks from her face, she stayed perfectly still and listened intently. The only sound to permeate the silence of the room was the soft ticking from a clock that hung on the wall and her own quiet breathing.

"Julie? Darling what's wrong?" came a sleepy voice from the other side of the bed; Julian shifted to gaze fondly at her husband of twenty-six years. Daniel Granger's unruly chestnut hair was in tossed disarray and he had the dark shadow of a beard along his chin as he blinked tiredly up at her.

"I don't know, probably nothing," she whispered back softly, dismissing the sound as she gently reaching out to smooth his hair back, "I thought I heard a noise but it was probably just Tonks changing shift."

"Probably," he agreed, his arm reaching out to snake around her waist. Julian smiled lovingly at him as she allowed herself be pulled into the warm embrace. Feeling her snuggle her head into the curve of his neck, Daniel smiled and let his chin come to rest on the top of his wife's cascade of curls as her hands slipped lightly around his waist. For a moment both of them simply lay there, relaxed and peaceful, lingering on the verge of sleep wrapped in each other when the sudden faint sounds of multiple apparitions sounded from outside.

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Snape pounded impatiently at the door of 12 Grimmauld Place and nearly knocked Ginny Weasley over as he swept into the threshold.

"Where's Dumbledore?" he demanded, his voice coming out harsh and strained from lack of sleep. The short redhead took a hasty step back and managed to choke out that he would not be arriving for another half an hour for breakfast. The stream of vulgar curses that followed her answer had her ears turning pink and she quickly made up an excuse to flee from her irate professor.

Mrs. Weasley looked up from her spot at the stove as Snape swept into the kitchen; his long robes billowing out behind him and the scowl on his face radiating frustration and ire. Looking closely, Mrs. Weasley realized there were remains of ash on the hem of his cloak and that he smelled faintly of smoke, there was also a haunting look in his eyes that called out to her benign nature and she bit back a motherly remark of comfort. Snape was never one for sympathy.

What ever had happened tonight had not gone well, she thought observing his jerky movements. Her theory was proved correct a moment later as Snape brushed past her wordlessly and headed straight for the liquor cabinet.

"My gods Severus it's not even seven in the morning," she began but quickly became silent at the murderous look he gave her. His eyes were bloodshot, tired, and absolutely furious. She pursed her lips into a thin disapproving line as he selected a bottle of firewhiskey, grabbed a cup, and turned to leave the kitchen. Molly was just about to turn back to her cooking when Snape's smooth, slightly forced voice sounded from behind her.

"When Mundungus Fletcher finally shows up, probably crying and hysterical, don't let him talk to _anyone_. Just send him somewhere where no one will see him and tell him to wait there and shut up."

"Do you want me to get you when he arrives?" she asked worriedly, turning to send him a perplexed look.

"No," he said tersely, his voice rippling with suppressed anger, "I'll probably kill him."

With that he turned and left a stunned Molly to finish frying the bacon.

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At exactly seven thirty-one the great fireplace in the living room flared up the color of emeralds and the pointed tip of a wizard's hat emerged shortly followed by the wizard himself. Straightening up, ever the tall and dignified figure, Dumbledore still managed to cut an imposing air with all of his hundred and fifty-three years. The great snow-white beard that he tucked into his periwinkle robes would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, yet on Albus Dumbledore it was only one more of the many intrinsic phenomenons that came together in a whirlwind of light and brilliance.

Immediately his arrival was met with an onslaught of greetings, questions, and comments from the household occupants. Holding up a hand he called for silence.

"I will have time to discuss everything with you all, but first, this old man needs some breakfast."

The small crown reluctantly eased off and Dumbledore swept into the kitchen to find Molly serving breakfast to Bill, George, Tonks, Ginny, and Fred.

"Molly my dear you are quite the genius in the kitchen, might I steal a plate of pancakes?" he asked, his eyes twinkling but almost as soon as Molly met his gaze he realized something was very much amiss and that twinkled disappeared to be replaced with one of acute seriousness.

Pulling her aside to a corner in the kitchen he asked in hushed tones if anything was wrong.

"I'm not sure Headmaster," Molly replied, wringing her hands nervously, "Severus stormed in early this morning; Albus, he looked like he wanted to maim someone. He refused to talk to anyone but you and then nearly exploded when he realized you weren't here. Then he warned me that Fletcher would arrive and sure enough, not twenty minutes later, Mundungus arrives, clearly distraught and barely coherent. I sent him up to the attic to lie down."

"Where is Severus now?" the wizard asked urgently.

"The small private parlor connected to the library sir, probably drinking himself into a stupor."

Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you Molly; and I would greatly appreciate if you didn't say anything to anyone just yet."

"Of course Headmaster."

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The parlor was dark and musky as Dumbledore opened the glass doors, feeling his eyes water as the combination of smoke and alcohol assaulted his senses. The fire had long since died down and no one had bothered to build it back up; with a wave of his wand the wizard quickly had the embers springing to life and dance cheerfully in the room. Coming fully into the room Dumbledore spied an expensive full-length traveling cloak thrown carelessly onto one of the great high back chairs along with what looked to be a matching black vest. The gleam of the fire caught the diminishing polish on a pair of dark boots that lay stretched out before the fire and as Dumbledore walked around the chair he finally spied the person connected to those familiar dragonskin boots.

"Severus."

Expressionless, stony black eyes lifted their gaze from the bottle clenched in the white, calloused left hand to meet Dumbledore's watery, pale azure gaze through his half-moon spectacles, which were glinting in the firelight.

"Albus, how nice to finally see you," he said, his usually cultured baritone voice only slightly slurred as it dripped with sarcasm.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, his eyes glazed with worry as he took in the younger man's wrinkled white dress- shirt and troubled eyes, "What has happened Severus?"

There was a moment of silence. "You know that there was a Death Eater revel last night," Snape replied, weariness betraying his voice; Dumbledore nodded. "It seems they finally recognized that Potter had become far too reckless and headstrong in the last few years; they questioned why it was that he hasn't managed to kill himself yet. The answer they came up with was Miss Granger."

Dumbledore peered at Snape over his half-moon spectacles, the twinkle in his eye having all but left. "Miss Granger?" His voice was suddenly serious as a look of deep worry and contemplation washed over his expression. "Yes…" he said after a moment, nodding slowly, "Miss Granger has been, on more than one occasion, the one to pull both Mister Potter and Mister Weasley back from a potentially dangerous situation."

He paused, thinking to himself. Indeed, she was the ice to their fire, rational to their impulse. She is far closer to them than anyone else in the Order and constantly offered them both strength and guidance. Indeed, it seems Miss Granger had unknowingly been one of their greatest protections, "Who, may I ask, first made light of this revelation?"

"Lucius is not a Death Eater merely for show," Snape said, his mouth twisting in distaste as he set down his bottle and rose from his seat to pace slowly in front of the fire. "I have known Lucius for many years; he looks at things from a different perspective than most and as an amazing talent for zeroing in on, and exploiting, weaknesses. That combined with his natural aptitude for scheming has always seemed to serve him well in the service of the Dark Lord. He was privately ordered to watch the Order – to observe and pick out potential points of vulnerability that would create the biggest blow to the Order."

"And now he has targeted Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, his tone measured.

Snape halted in his pacing to look Dumbledore in the eye. Dumbledore noticed the rare appearance of something akin to regret mirrored in the younger man's usually impassive face. A grave, solemn look took over the older wizard's features. "They have already acted," Dumbledore realized softly – it was a statement, not a question.

Silence.

"What have they done?" Dumbledore asked, the slight underlie of apprehension betraying his otherwise flat voice. There was a long stretch of stillness as Dumbledore waited patiently for his potion master's response.

"Albus," Snape pinched the area between his eyes…his voice was suddenly soft – something very out of character for the potions master and it took the headmaster by slight surprise – but only for a moment. "How do you tell a teenage girl that her mother was beaten and raped repeatedly in her own bed with her father there to witness the whole thing? How do you tell a girl who has done nothing but good in this world that she will never see her mother again?" The blood in Snape's veins began to boil at the memory…the screams, "They burnt the house down, Albus…Hermione's mother was alive and locked in a closet. Her father was taken and is currently being held prisoner – Merlin knows what they are doing to him," Snape clenched and unclenched his fist, his anger and disgust building at an alarming rate. "Lucius will be sending her a letter tonight at midnight; it will say they are willing to make a trade—her for her father, and she, being the predictable Gryffindor she is, will accept."

Dumbledore's outwardly appearance was one of collectiveness, but inside he was boiling with a rage that few had ever witnessed, and those most unfortunate to witness it would never forget it – a reason for his usually calm exterior. His age-old brain, wizened with years of living and countless experiences pieced together a puzzle most would not be able to solve within the few seconds he did. "The guard change…" he sighed, closing his eyes as painful realization hit him.

Snape's silence was confirmation enough. "Lucius was counting on Fletcher being late, as he always is, and so, thanks to his incompetence, the Death Eaters were able to complete their task without hindrance."

Snape looked away from his mentor; every time he looked into the pale blue eyes of the headmaster, he felt naked – as if Dumbledore could see every sin, every atrocity he had ever committed in his worthless life.

"How much time do they give her before they kill her father?" Dumbledore asked his voice steady and calculated with an underlying tone of remorse and anger that Snape was just barely able to pick up.

"She has until noon tomorrow, exactly twelve hours after she will receive the letter. She is to go to into Diagon alley where she will head to Flourish and Blotts, and touch the 'R' on the sign there; it is a portkey that only activates upon her touch, from there she would be transported straight to the Dark Lord, and, supposedly, have her father released."

Snape's blood now felt like ice as it ran through his veins; he felt weak, drained as he stood and allowed himself to lean against the mantle of the fireplace, his gaze lost in the flames. "Miss Granger cannot follow through with the letter's demands," he said softly, not looking at Dumbledore, "you know as much as I do that they will never allow her father live to see another day, she is intelligent enough to recognize that too, but…she is Gryffindor - she will readily go to her death, or her imprisonment, even for the slightest chance that she can save her father from a terrible fate," It was a statement, not speculation – they both knew it.

Dumbledore stood as still as a statue as he allowed Snape's words to sink in. The silence was heavy between them and seemed to stretch on for ages until, at last, Dumbledore's soft voice broke it. "Then," he said slowly, "it would seem that we have only one option - in the best interests of Miss Granger, we must not allow that letter to fall into her hands. She will be notified of her parent's fate when the time is safe enough for that knowledge to be released."

Snape looked away from the fire sharply, a retort on his tongue; however the words died on his lips when he saw the old wizard. For a single moment, Snape saw the man who had lived over a hundred years – he saw every year, every bit of pain he'd ever endured, the love he had for his students and those around him etched into the many lines of his wise, ancient face. He looked every bit the one hundred and some odd years that he undoubtedly was.

"It is the only thing we can do, Severus. It is the only outcome that would save the life of at least _one _person," Each word, each syllable was drenched in pain and remorse…it was something that Snape was not accustomed to hearing from the headmaster. Never, in the time he had known the headmaster, had he ever heard him speak with such sorrow, such forlornness and regret. He had to look away, abruptly braking eye contact to return his gaze to the flames.

"This is not a decision that can be made lightly, Severus, you and I both know that. Her parent's deaths will be on our hands, but we must remember – _this is war._ Everyone involved with the Order knows very well the risks involved, the sacrifices that will be made, a necessity in war, I am afraid. However, I do believe that, if anything I think this is what her parents would have wanted. It is what any parent would want – for their child to be alive and safe."

"Very well," Snape said softly, unconsciously straightening his loose dress shirt as he regained his composure, "I accept that for her own safety Miss Granger will be kept unaware of her father's situation but I want you to tell me, no – _promise_ me, that this decision has absolutely _nothing_ to do with the _cengalarious _charm."

"I can't do that Severus," the old wizard replied softly, his usual calm tone and composed appearance back in place. Snape cursed viciously into the flames, "the charm is old magic; it can only work if we have the three specific people it requires and, as fate has it, we have been thrown the final person. By noon tomorrow she will be an eligible candidate for the spell; our _only _candidate need I remind you, and I _will_ be approaching her to request her cooperation."

"It is obvious you've already made up your decision," Snape shot, resentment lacing his every word.

"Yes," he replied softly, "I'm sorry if you think I'm taking advantage of the situation Severus, but I'm trying to do what is best for everyone. Miss Granger will be safe, the charm secured—"

"Until she realizes what you've done of course," Snape interrupted, "as much as the know-it-all of Gryffindor has badgered me incessantly over the years, she does not deserve this Dumbledore and you know it. She will never forgive you…never forgive herself for not being able to do anything about it,"

The wizard sighed and, for the second time that night, his age seemed to betray him. "I know Severus, I know. She will not be the first person I have hurt in an attempt to end this war." He looked sadly at the motionless form of Snape's still-turned back. "Nor will she be the last, but with war there comes a time when you have to choose whether to act as you feel is right or do what you know to be necessary."

The old wizard turned quietly to the door, his shoulders seemingly slumped a little more than when he had first walked in. "I have done the necessary; I can only hope someday both yourself, Miss Granger and the rest of the wizarding world can see that, and forgive me."

The nearly inaudible _click_ of the parlor doors signaled his departure and Snape abruptly slumped against the mantle – his hand braced against the cool marble as he fought for some kind of hold over the myriad of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. There was anger, burning steadily under the surface of his tightly reined control, but right along with it seemed to some a sense of utter hopelessness – life was just so damn _unfair._ Snape understood Albus's decision, his reasoning, and if truth be told, he agreed with the headmaster. But his sense of honor and duty to doing what is right at this moment in time outweighed what was, as Dumbledore had said, necessary.

_It was fine when it was just me,_ he thought bitterly, _I had a debt to pay and I dedicated my life willingly to the Order to end this war; but Miss Granger…_

In the back of Snape's mind he faintly wondered why he was so worked up about the slip of a Gryffindor girl but then he realized that, while she was still an annoying know-it-all with a penchant for befriending fools, she was also a brilliant witch that would soon be the second victim of Dumbledore's 'the ends justify the means' philosophy.

_It seems we are two of a kind,_ he thought humorlessly as he pushed away from the fireplace to collect his vest and coat. Walking out of the parlor he managed to mask his slightly unsteady gait of alcohol and exhaustion behind the billowing fold of his cloak. He was almost to the door when he heard a familiar soft voice call him from the top of the stairs. A voice he knew only too well. A voice that constantly delivered overly-long solutions to any question presented and detailed explanations to a problem in class as was forever the bane of his teaching career. But that was not the reason he resolutely squared his shoulders and opened the door to the cool of the morning. It was because at that moment, he didn't think he could look into the pair of chocolate brown eyes framed by soft chestnut waves of hair without remembering another pair he saw in that small house in the suburbs of London, a pair so strikingly similar that had, mere hours ago, closed for the last time.

**So, what did you think? I'm pretty much dying to hear. ****REVIEW!**

**REVIEW RECORD: 23**


	3. Such A Fool

**Hey guys sorry for the delayed update. THANK FOR ALL THE ENCOURAGEMENT. It means so much; plus it gets me in the mood for **_**writing!!**_** Enjoy.**

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Between the desire and the spasm

Between the potency and the existance

**There falls a Shadow**

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**Chapter Three- **

Hermione felt the familiar sting of disappointment as the black-clad figure blatantly ignored her and swept out the door. _I suppose some things just never change_, she thought resignedly as she came to the bottom of the stairs and headed towards the kitchen. Rounding the corner the smell of fresh pancakes, bacon, eggs, and coffee reached her nose and her stomach gave an anxious rumble as it sensed of food nearby. _Wow,_she thought as she entered the kitchen and spied the counters overflowing with the celebratory breakfast Molly had whipped up, _she must have gotten up before dawn to cook all this. Let's hope the birthday boy makes an appearance soon…_

Almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, a loud stampede of foot steps came rushing from the back stairway as Fred, George, Charlie, and Ron burst into the kitchen followed calmly by the lean, dark-haired boy that looked on with unveiled amusement as the Weasley brothers quickly invaded the kitchen space. Chuckling softly she made her way through the now-busy maze of people to her best friend who was currently the recipient of a chorus of best wishes and happy birthdays.

"Happy birthday Harry," she said smiling brightly as she slipped her hands around his waist and gave him a tight hug.

Sparkling eyes of green looked down at her fondly. "Thanks 'Mione," he said, returning her smile with a cheeky one of his own, "So, have we heard back from the Ministry yet?"

Hermione gave a little half-hearted shrug and grabbed his arm to steer him to the table. "We received a response last night from Fudge," she said unenthusiastically as she took her seat, "He said that, and I quote, '…while the Ministry has much too little time to be wasting our resources in affairs of unimportance, it is under the pressure of current persons of importance that we acquiesce to your appeal of Ministry defense".

Harry scoffed – a haughty frown appearing on his face. "Pompous ass, he makes it sound as if he's doing us some great favor. I told Dumbledore that we didn't need help from the Ministry protecting the Burrow but _no,_ he _insisted_ we request for additional guards to be posted around the wards while the party takes place."

Hermione watched half amused as Harry muttered curses under his breath all the while picking rather unceremoniously at his eggs. "_Harry_, there are going to be students there, and families, everyone who cares about you. If Death Eaters _do_ show up, though it would be foolish and rather reckless for them to even _try_ to attack your party; we'll need as many capable people there as possible to make sure no one is hurt."

Harry still looked angry but he nodded grudgingly. "I still don't trust that man," he said scowling, "and I don't trust the people who work for him."

He let out an exasperated sigh and leaned back in his chair looking at the ceiling. "Is this party _really _necessary, I mean, it seems like it's a lot of trouble, plus I don't want to endanger anyone. Maybe it would be better if we just had a nice quiet party here…"

"Harry you know Remus won't let you do that," Hermione replied casting a meaningful look across the table to the corner where the werewolf sat. "He's from an old wizarding family where a coming of age party is a huge event. You remember Ron's – I've never seen so many red-haired people in my life."

"Fine fine fine," Harry muttered, crossing his arms and giving up, "but it will only last a couple hours at most right?" He shot Hermione a hopeful look.

Hermione hesitated before saying, "Well…_maybe."_ She couldn't help but inwardly grinned at the look of desperate horror that spread across Harry's face. Trying to cheer him up she added, "and then, when everyone has portkeyed back home, you and Ron can finally be initiated into the Order."

The mere mention of his approaching acceptance into the Order of the Phoenix had Harry immediately dismissing all thoughts of awkward dancing and long, drunk toasts. Hermione tried to quell the little stab of longing that went through her but failed miserably. Ron had turned seventeen a couple months ago but had faithfully waited for his best mate so they could be initiated together while Hermione would be left to watch from the sidelines as she slowly counted down the days for her own birthday. Both her best friends had offered to wait for her; _November wasn't that far away was it?_ But in the end she couldn't bear the look of longing they cast at the closed doors of the Order meetings and she had grudgingly told them to go ahead without her. Now she halfheartedly wished she'd been more of a selfish witch.

"Let's just hope Dumbledore doesn't have anymore excuses for not letting me in," Harry said, abruptly snapping Hermione out of her thoughts, "I swear, if he brushes me aside one more time like some first year I'm going to go after the horcruxes by my bloody self. Of course it all depends on his _conditions_—"

"There are conditions?" Hermione asked, suddenly discouraged.

"Yeah, Dumbledore talked to me a couple days ago. He said he hadn't worked out the specifics but if I was to be allowed entrance to the Order there were _certain things_ that needed to be taken care of first."

There was a pause as Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. "Your mind is still guarded right?" she asked, "I mean, you only had a few lessons with Professor Snape but they were enough to keep your thoughts safe right?"

Harry nodded. "As long as I don't tax my mental strength too much I'm able to keep my blocks firmly in place. I can't sense Voldemort's feelings, and he can't sense mine."

Hermione relaxed a little. "Well then, other than that I can't really think of anything that could keep you out of the Order. Maybe he just wants you to take a wizard's oath or something so that you won't do anything rash or foolish this year." She shot him a pointed look. "I know you've taken risks in the past Harry and it almost seems necesary, but the war is getting too dangerous to do things like sneaking into the Department of Mysteries or turning back time. It's amazing we lived to see our second year much less long enough to be celebrating our seventeenth birthdays. Promise me you won't do anything rash this year, Harry, _please_." She half pleaded

A little hint of desperation laced her voice that she couldn't keep out; she knew Harry, she knew his pride, and is temper, and his impulsiveness. She knew his blind willingness to protect those he loved and his fierce protectiveness that came with his fear of losing them. She knew _him_, and she couldn't bear the thought of him falling because of some petty lapse of judgment.

"Promise me Harry," she repeated softly, giving him a meaningful look.

The young man seemed to fidget in his seat uncomfortably, not meeting Hermione's gaze. "I can't 'Mione," he said, his voice filled with both determination and regret, "If you or Ron or Remus was in danger, I _would_ take those risks. I _would _go after you. I can't promise I'll play it safe, it's just not in my blood."

Hermione bit her lip and starred down expressionlessly at the table. Somewhere inside her she knew he wouldn't have agreed, but having him say it aloud felt as though he'd just sealed his doom and it left her terribly shaken.

"But," he continued, an uncharacteristic smirk appearing on his face, "I _do_ promise that I'll be more careful this year; believe it or not I want to be alive to see the look on Malfoy's face when I defeat his precious dark lord."

Hermione gave a weak smile at his passionate tone of voice. Sometimes she felt like he was fighting for all the wrong reasons…and yet, if revenge and hate and obligation were what he needed to keep going, it was hardly her place to take those away from him.

"Okay," she said softly, accepting his slightly evasive declaration, "that's all I ask." Firmly brushing the depressing thoughts aside she forced herself to smile brightly at him, "Enough of this talk of toil and doom. This is supposed to be your birthday breakfast and you're supposed to be excited about your party!"

Harry went gladly went along with her abrupt change of subject and faked a grimace at her mention of the party. "I don't know how Ron can be so excited, I mean it's not even _his _birthday party, and yet he's been going _on and on_ about it all week. Actually…" Harry sent her a sly look; "he's been acting quite…_peculiar _lately; hinting at asking someone to go with him to the party…someone from school…someone he's known for a long time…"

Hermione blushed and felt her heart beat happily in her chest. "Really?" she asked, trying to keep the hopefulness out of her voice, "Did he say that?"

Harry shrugged. "He absolutely _refused_ to tell me exactly who, but then again he's not very subtle with his questions."

"_Harry,"_ he said, faking a flustered tone of Ron, "_do you think it's too late to ask someone to the party? I mean, I know I've put it off till the last minute but…I mean, I really like her Harry, and what if she says no? Do you think I should still ask? I mean, I don't want to end up like I did at the Yule Ball our fourth year - do you think this will be a repeat?"_

"What did you say to him?" Hermione asked anxiously, her face glowing.

"I told him to do it of course," Harry replied, his face twisted in an expression of mock insult, "I can't _believe _you would think I'd lead him astray 'Mione. Of course I told him to ask!"

Hermione snuck a look across the table to the red haired young man in question. Though he'd always been tall and on the slight side, Quidditch definitely helped to tone his once gangly physique into one of nubile leanness. His entire body was still lengthy yet the definition of muscles could be seen just faintly as he reached over Remus to grab the salt and Hermione felt a flutter of pure feminine appreciation go through her. He'd let his hair grow to a length Ginny called 'shaggy' claiming it made him look dashing but under all the physical changes Hermione could still see the socially awkward yet sweet boy she'd met on the train. She knew it wasn't love, at least not the kind that is written in the stars or the like, but she did admit to herself she'd been quite infatuated with him since the forth year – waiting, _hoping_, that maybe some day he would look at her the way he looked at some of the other girls.

"Earth to Hermione," a voice sounded and Hermione snapped her head around to meet the gaze of a very amused Harry; she blushed again.

"Sorry," she mumbled and Harry laughed as he turned back to his breakfast.

"S'okay Hermione," he said, his voice still laced with mirth, "I imagine I looked like that a number of time when Cho walked by." Hermione grinned because she new it was true. Wordlessly deciding they were done with their private conversation, Harry and Hermione turned back to their breakfasts to join in the twin's current discussion on whether or not it was technically 'illegal' to try out their prototypes on muggles.

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"Um, Hermione?" 

Hermione looked up from the book she was reading a couple hours later to see Ron standing anxiously beside her. His body looked tense and his eyes were nervous; Hermione suppressed the bright smile that threatened to break out at any second.

"Yes, Ron?" she said innocently, putting her book down to give him her full attention.

"Well…um, I know it's horribly short notice and everything –" Hermione felt her stomach flutter with happiness, "—but, well I've been thinking about his for a while and I was wondering—" Excitement threaten to burst in her chest, "—could you help me owl Lavender and see if she'd be willing to go as my date to Harry's birthday party?"

And everything crashed down.

Hermione blinked – shocked and hurt beyond belief and feeling utterly unwanted and foolish. She could have laughed bitterly at her stupidity if it weren't for the fact that her stomach now felt like it was full of acid instead of butterflies. Curling her hand into a fist behind her back she fought to keep her voice steady and the tears that were already beginning to sting her eyes at bay.

"Lavender?" she asked quietly.

Ron began spluttering off excuses, ever oblivious to the wetness shining in Hermione's eyes. "I know the party's only in a couple hours but I just couldn't figure out how to ask and I couldn't ask Harry, you _know_ he hates her. I'm so sorry I waited till the last minute but _please_ Herm, I need your help. _Please, _I really need you to put a good word in for me; I know she values your opinion." Hermione couldn't do anything but nod her consent as her heart gave an unsteady lurch at the sound of her pet name. He was the only one that called her that…_Herm_…now she wished he wouldn't.

Ron chattered on excitedly. "Thanks, you're a life saver." He let out a huge breath he must have been holding in. "You would not _believe_ how much pressure I was under. God how pathetic is it to be going to a coming-of-age party without a date? Plus Lavender's got some really nice—"

"I don't want to know," Hermione interrupted tersely, her hidden hand shaking with effort. Ron seemed to snap back to the moment and remember whom he was talking to as his ears turned a soft shade of red.

"Sorry, Herm, forgot for a second," he said. The antique clock handing on the wall of the living room suddenly chimed ten in the morning and Ron abruptly realized that he only had an hour and a half till the party. "Oh, got to go Herm, just um, send the letter, and tell Lavender I'm sorry for the short notice, I'm a prat, I've missed her, and I'll pick her up at eleven-twenty okay?"

Without waiting for an answer he dashed out of the room leaving Hermione alone.

_God I'm such a fool,_ she thought, bringing her legs up to wrap her arms around them in a comforting position. The tears she'd held in suddenly became too much and she let her head fall weakly to rest on her knees as silent sobs shook her frame. _Such a fool_.

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"Ron?" Harry called, opening the door to the bedroom they were sharing. Walking in, he spied his tall best friend pulling on his handsome new navy dress robes. 

"Hey Harry," he said, running his hand through his hair as he looked around for his shoes.

"Hey, so, did you ask Hermione yet?" Harry asked anxiously; at breakfast she'd been a bundle of excitement, barely able to even sit still in her seat.

"Actually," Ron replied casually, bending down to look under the bed, "I decided not to ask her. Did you hear Lavernder broke up with her boyfriend a couple days ago? I hear she's on the rebound…"

"What!?" Harry nearly yelled, causing Ron to sit up abruptly and hit his head hard on the bed frame, "You didn't ask Hermione? Why the hell not?"

Ron gave him a confused look. "Harry, didn't you hear me? _Lavender is single._ Why in the world would I ask Hermione?" He shook his head as if it was obvious and returned to the search for his shoes.

Harry wanted to yell at him; couldn't he tell she'd had a crush on him for _forever?_ And yet it took almost all his will power to remain silent; it would destroy Hermione if he told Ron how she felt. Taking a deep breath he waved his wand and wordlessly _accio_ed Ron's shoes out from the bottom drawer of his dresser.

"Hm," he said, standing up and looking at them speculatively, "I wonder how they got in there…"

"Never mind Ron," Harry replied wearily, guilt was slowly drowning his insides as he realized Hermione was still probably waiting anxiously for Ron's invitation. He nearly groaned at the thought of having to go tell her it wouldn't be coming.

"Alright," Ron said, standing up and observing himself in the mirror, "Hermione should have owled Lavender by now, I guess I'll just—"

"_What?!_" Harry exclaimed for the second time that day, "You asked _Hermione_ to convince Lavender to go to the party with you?"

"Of course Harry, they _have_ been roommates for six years," Ron said logically, "I was hoping she could put a good word in for me. Plus have you_seen_ Lavender? I mean…don't get me wrong Hermione isn't a troll…but _Lavender!_"

Harry decided he needed to leave before he hit his best friend – he could be a real prat sometimes. _God I have to go find Hermione, -- _he cringed –_she's going to hate me. Why oh why did I not just keep my big mouth shut?! But no, I had to go hint to her that Ron would ask, I had to go and get her hopes up. Merlin what a mess. _

Making an excuse to Ron, Harry left the room. He needed to find Hermione, he needed to make sure she was okay, he needed to apologize and claim momentary insanity; Merlin – he needed Ginny. She would know what to do.

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They sicken of the calm who know the storm. **  
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	4. Party Insight

**NOTE: THANKS SO MUCH FOR ALL THE GREAT REVIEWS AND ADVICE! LOVED EVERY SINGLE ONE. I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY THE CHAPTER AND A LITTLE SHOUTOUT TO THE BETA – NIENNE SIMARWIN! Warning: Longest chapter I've even written. **

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_Between the essence and the descent_

_**There falls a Shadow**_

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**Chapter Four- **

Ginny loitered outside the door to her and Hermione's shared bedroom. _What to say? What to say?_ Ginny halted and ran a hand exasperatedly through her dark red tresses as she silently cursed the entire situation. _God they're so perfect for each other,_ she thought stubbornly, _my idiot of a brother just needs to stop chasing every skirt that walks by and settle down with Hermione. _A little smile graced Ginny's face as she thought about them; once Ron finally came to his senses and the war was over he and Hermione could get married, have a bunch of little nieces and nephews for her to play with - Hermione could stop fostering that ridiculous dream of going into an apprenticeship; why in the world anyone would want to attend_ more_ school when they just could stay home and play with their children was beyond Ginny. _Hermione just needs to see how happy she'll be with Ron, maybe then she can actually have a life instead of drowning herself in those stupid books…_

Smiling at the lovely scene in her head, Ginny gathered her courage and knocked firmly on the door all the while rehearsing the speech she had prepared in her head. …_I know you love him Hermione, don't worry, he'll come to his senses, just give him time…_

A moment later the door opened and Ginny stepped into the room. "I know you're probably disappointed," Ginny began hurriedly, "But I want you to take it from me, Ron was always slow on the uptake and—"

She abruptly stopped as she took in the sight before her. Hermione stood there, a slightly amused quirk at the corner of her mouth as she listened to Ginny; her eyes were not sad or heartbroken as the redhead expected but instead they seemed to radiate a renewed sense of peace within herself; seemed almost _content_. She had changed into her witches' dress-robes and Ginny felt a prick of envy go through her at Hermione's effortless elegant appearance.

The robes were an icy blue with tiny silver stitches sewn in around the hem line and the torso clung snuggly to the soft curves of her chest with a slightly dipping neckline that hinted at full breasts; the sleeves and skirt of the robes flowed freely and gracefully to the floor while her hair was left to curl madly around her shoulders. Mocha eyes with the subtle glint of gold blinked serenely back at Ginny, the latter hardly able to believe they were the same orbs that could radiate fire and danger should the occasion call for it.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked, an inquisitive look gracing her face, "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Ginny asked, slightly taken back as she walked further into the room and shut the door softly behind her, "Nothing…I mean – I'm fine, I just..." she let out a frustrate huff, "Harry told me what happened…I just, wasn't expecting you to seem so…calm."

Hermione gave her a little smile. "It's sweet of you to come, but really, I'm fine."

Ginny blinked surprised. "Really? She cast a suspicious look at Hermione's face searching desperately for proof of the contrary but found nothing. "Well, that's good," Ginny said, a cheerful tone coating her words, "I mean, I was fully prepared to cheer you up any way necessary but I'm glad you're all right. So that being said, you look absolutely stunning."

The faint stain of crimson lit up Hermione's cheeks. "I was wondering if it was a bit…much, and I wasn't sure if I, well…thanks Ginny." Hermione said defeated.

"Anytime," Ginny hesitated, one eyebrow slightly arched. "You wouldn't happen to be dressing up for any special someone would you?" Ginny asked, secretly – desperately, hoping Ron's rejection had only strengthened Hermione's attraction.

Hermione paused for a second at the question before she slowly turned away to fetch her wand from the bedside table. She knew what Ginny was getting at. "After Ron…left," she began thoughtfully, "I admit it, I was disappointed and maybe a little hurt but I started thinking about _us_, and I realized…there is no _us._ Nor will there probably ever be one. I began wondering what it was about Ron that I liked exactly all these years and the truth is…everyone _expects_ us to be together and I think I've just unconsciously gone along with it because I didn't want anyone to be disappointed."

Ginny started to protest but Hermione cut her off.

"He's a good guy Gin, he's handsome and charming when he wants to be and you know I'll always care for him, but…he's also bullheaded and quick-tempered and we don't have _anything_ in common, it's stupid to pretend we do; we don't like the same things, see things the same way, for Merlin's sake our most passionate conversations are when we're fighting!"

"But opposites attract!" Ginny cried in a near pleading tone, her mind unable to wrap itself around what Hermione was saying. They were_ meant_ to be together…weren't they?

Hermione shook her head, her face one of someone who has discovered a truth about themselves…and finds comfort in it. "I'm sorry Gin, I know you had your heart set on being sister-in-laws, but I really just think it's time I gave up on that little fancy; beside, I doubt I'll have any time for romance if the war keeps going on like this. I just think my time would be better spent helping the Order; maybe when all this is done we'll be able to pick up the pieces and live a normal life...but, not now Ginny, not now."

Ginny let out an irritated sigh, _why couldn't she stop being such a self-righteous boor and just live—love, for a little bit._ "Fine," Ginny said haughtily, not bothering to keep the disappointment out of her voice, "well, I guess I might as well get ready, Thomas said he'd meet me at the party."

With that Ginny disappeared into her closet, the occasional projectile of clothing shooting out of the door being the only evidence she remained in the room. Hermione sighed, Ginny honestly needed to let go of those ridiculous views of 'how the world should be' and just accept her decision. Deciding that she'd rather not hang around and be ignored, Hermione quietly left the room, hoping that the extra space would give her friend a little time to cool down. If there was one thing about Ginny, it was that she couldn't hold a grudge.

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A few hours later, Harry smiled brightly at the group of people surrounding him; Ron stood to his right chattering on happily about the Chudley Cannons and their recent victory over the Brazilian Calabans as Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas listened which rapt attention. Harry fidgeted a bit in his deep green dress-robes the party was fairly formal as most coming of age parties were according to Remus.

The burrow's gardens had been cleaned up, cut, trimmed, and groomed to perfection in preparation for the festivities. A sporadic line of trees surrounded the spacious clearing; the bright colors of autumn were just beginning to bring out the crimson, orange, and gold tint to the leaves. Food lined the length of three long tables and Moody had enchanted the garden fountain to rain sherry instead of water – the twins had been delighted. Close friends and allies had all been invited to celebrate and as Harry looked around he was amazing at the number of people that had come. Fellow students from school, a couple close teachers and Ministry workers, even Tom from the Knight Bus had decided to join in the festivities.

Harry's gaze landed on an aged marble statute that stood lonely in a small alcove to the left of the traditional wizard band, no one would have ever guessed it was actually an emergency portkey in case of a Death Eater attack. Despite the Ministry's repeated assurances that 'their best men were on it', Harry couldn't help but feel skeptical about anything to do with Fudge's involvement; the spinless little man had actually had the audacity to sneak a Daily Prophet reporter in through the wards in order to spy on the party. Harry scoffed into his butterbeer as he took a long refreshing sip – Fudge didn't trust Harry, and Harry sure as hell didn't trust him.

Noticing Dumbledore chatting in a far corner of the garden with – what appeared to be – the side of a tall hedge, Harry decided it was in the best interest of the Order to go speak with the headmaster before anyone noticed he was acting more peculiar than usual. Making an excuse to his housemates, Harry quickly slipped away and wove through the scattering of witches and wizards till he reached Dumbledore's side. Ever-twinkling eyes of faded sapphire turned to Harry and a smooth, cheery smile graced the elderly wizard's face.

"Ah Harry my boy, we were just talking about you," he said and Harry swore he saw the headmaster wink at the empty air beside him.

"Ah…headmaster I don't think…sir, there's no one here—"

"Do at least pretend you contain some inkling of intelligence Potter," a sharp voice suddenly sounded out of nowhere and Harry stumbled back a step startled.

Heat rose to his cheeks as he recognized the curt, sneering voice of Snape and realized the arrogant prick was standing not three feet from him, obviously under some kind of concealing charm. He unconsciously curled his fist in irritation. _The git can't even leave me alone on my birthday_, he thought, a scowl of displeasure forming on his face, _who the hell does he think he is showing up here? _

Dumbledore seemed to look innocently confused for a moment before he brought his hand up to readjust his spectacles as he chuckled deeply.

"My apologies Harry, I'd forgotten not everyone can see through Severus's cloak. Mind you, it's not as powerful as an invisibility cloak, but disillusion cloaks are quite tricky when the wearer is standing still."

"What is _he_ doing here?" Harry asked his voice laced with accusation and venom.

Dumbledore waved a hand noncommittally. "Severus is here under my request Harry," he said, purposefully keeping his voice light and carefree as Harry glared daggers at the space next to him, "I thought it best that we talk to you together about those conditions I spoke of earlier in preparation for your entrance into the Order."

"Fine," Harry said, forcing his voice to stay calm. As long as he was recognized by the Order tonight Harry didn't care if Snape ate all his cake and stole all his presents…so long as he didn't get in the way of his initiation. "But is hiding in the shadows really necessary?" Harry asked, the barest of sneers lacing his voice, "I understand the light might hurt your eyes _Professor _but honestly_—"_

Harry was abruptly cut off as a strong hand suddenly seemed to appear out of nowhere and grasp the front of his robes in an iron grip, jerking Harry abruptly forward.

"Listen to me _boy,_" Snape hissed tersely, "even out of school I am still your professor and your superior and you _will_ respect me as such. Don't think because Dumbledore has finally given in to your relentless whining and accepted you into the Order that that make us equals. _Never_ make that mistake."

Shoving him back a step, the pale hand disappeared once again into the fold of his cloak. Harry cast a quick glance around – no one had spotted Snape. The meaningful clearing of a throat caused Harry to look to his left and he felt a prick of shame go through him at Dumbledore's disapproving look.

"Harry, along with your entrance to the Order you will be required continue your work with Occlumency under the supervision of Severus—"

"But Professor-!" Harry cried incredulously, outrage and disbelief obvious in his face.

"There is no argument here, Harry," Dumbledore continued, his jaw set firm and his azure eyes determined, "You _will_ be continuing your lessons, this is not up for discussion. You've come far with what little training you received during your fifth year but with the escalation of the war in recent weeks I feel a direct confrontation with the Dark Lord may be occurring very soon. It is both for your benefit and the benefit of the Order that you continue with your lessons till Severus has deemed you antiquate in the art."

Harry could felt the frustration boiling up inside him; the last thing he needed on top of Voldemort's resurrection, the death of Sirius, and the ongoing battle against the Ministry was some traitor poking around through his thoughts! His hand once again curled into a fist as he fought for control – he wanted to be a part of this Order, he _needed_ to play a more central role in the war effort, but at what cost?

"I think we both remember the last time Professor Snape _tutored_ me," Harry said tightly, his face distorting into an expression of scorn, "he didn't teach, he violated my mind without any kind of warning and the barest of instruction! Those lessons weakened me to the point where it's no great wonder Voldemort found a way into my thoughts! Hell, that could have been his plan all along!" Harry let a smug little smirk slip from his lips as he felt the anger simply _radiating_ off his potions master. "Therefore," he continued, his voice much calmer and with a tint of satisfaction, "I can't see any possible way to continue my lessons with the professor without further endangering both myself and the security of the Order."

"Do cool your arrogance Potter," Snape's icy voice hissed, the very faint shifting of the air being the only evidence of his position, "It seems, much to my displeasure, the Headmaster had found a way around your little defect."

"What?"

"It's true Harry," Dumbeldore said, looking Harry in the eyes, "when I realized this situation had arisen I began searching for something that would allow us to continue your lessons, while keeping your mind temporarily safe."

Harry furrowed his brow inquisitively and listened as Dumbledore continued.

"What I found was the _cengalarious _charm." Seeing Harry's confused look Dumbledore went on to explain, "don't worry, it's not a very commonly heard of charm. It's an extremely old spell that's fallen out of favor over the years because of its unpredictability. But, due to the severity of our circumstances, I think the risks are worth it."

"What exactly does it do professor?" Harry asked, completely forgetting his earlier rage as curiosity swept over him.

"In ancient times, the charm was used to promote peace among differing levels of blood purity by bonding their minds and bodies to each other through a pagan ritual. We're going to try and duplicate this effect by recreating the ritual. It's our belief that through this bonding Severus will be able to protect your mind while he trains you, thereby removing you from danger. The only minor complication with this charm is that it requires candidates from all _three_ different blood levels, thus you will be the halfblood Mister Potter, Severus will act as the pureblood, and I have decided to approach Miss Granger to fill in as our muggleborn

"Hermione?" Harry said, his face one of confusion, "Surely you must have another muggleborn; I mean, I'm sure Hermione would gladly accept headmaster, I just don't want to put her in any more danger."

Dumbledore laid a hand on Harry's shoulder reassuringly and gave him a warm smile. "Of course you don't Mister Potter, but it seems under the circumstances Miss Granger is the only member of the Order who fits the criteria of the spell – blood type, loyalty, and other… _necessities_. It's extremely fortunate she's with us and I'm confident Miss Granger can handle anything that comes her way, don't you worry about her. You just focus on your training and I'm sure everything will work out fine."

Harry returned Dumbledore's smile and felt his apprehension fade away at his reassuring tone. "Of course Headmaster. I suppose in that case I accept; will we be casting the charm after initiation?"

"Soon, Harry," the older wizard said, "Also, I've been speaking with the inner members of the Order and we believe that with proper training both you and Mister Weasley will be ready for your first mission by...mid-November? I know both you and Mister Weasley are great fans of Professor Moody and with any luck your lessons will be arranged within the week. I realize this may be sudden for you Harry but, truth be told, the Order needs you. Will that be satisfactory?"

Harry nodded, his determination to help the Order stronger than ever. "Yes, sir."

Removing his hand, the conversation obviously coming to a close, Dumbledore glanced pointedly behind him and Harry followed his gaze questioningly as he looked over his shoulder. The sight that greeted him both shocked and astounded him and Harry found himself grinning foolishly.

A stunning brunette witch in fitted robes the color of frost and ice had just appeared at the portkey point, her appearance causing quite a flurry among the group of seventh year boys that were loitering near. Harry watched with amusement as the figure of Dean nearly jumped up to greet the woman.

"I think Miss Granger might appreciate your company Harry," Dumbledore said, a knowing twinkle in his eyes and Harry cast him a grateful smile and he quickly excused himself to save Hermione from the sudden onslaught of male attention.

As soon as Harry was out of earshot Snape turned to face the older wizard, a resentful scowl on his face that only Dumbledore could see. Somehow it made the effect all the more potent.

"How very clever Headmaster," he said, gesturing to the receding figure of Harry, "blind him with glory and then send him off like the protective puppy he is and hope he doesn't notice your tactful evasion of his question. But then again I suppose telling him this is an extremely fickle and potentially harmful spell wouldn't serve your purposes would it?"

Dumbledore's expression didn't change. "I told him what he needed to hear Severus; nothing more…nothing less."

Snape snorted; his disgust not targeted so much at the wizard before him, or even the boy they protected and shelter like fragile glass, but at the circumstances which forced them to sacrifice a piece of themselves – apparently their humanity – to save the rest. _The world is getting darker_, Snape thought and in the midst of laughter and happiness he felt a chill run down his spine, _let us hope in this battle of victory that we go not lose ourselves to our cause. _

Wordlessly turning away, Snape wove with skill forged from years of practice through the myriad of chattering people; not a single soul in the crowd noticed the evanescent blur of light that seemed to ripple for a second through the air as he passed.

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Much later, Snape found himself hiding in a secluded shed that was being used as a temporary liquor storage room; there was only so much he was willing to do for Dumbledore and sitting around and watching as people laughed and frolicked about while he was forced to stay concealed under the disillusion cloak was not one of them. A harsh, humorless laugh passed his lips as he raised his glass of brandy for a sip; _it's not as if I'd be welcomed even if I could walk around without this damned cloak. _

Shrugging with the indifference of someone whose often forced into doing tasks he'd rather not, Snape leaned back against the barrel of wine he was sitting against and idly looked around the small room. Barrels, like the one he was sitting on, were stacked high against the wall containing every sort of alcoholic beverage one could dream of. _Why is it people always feel the need to send liquor as a present for a coming-of-age party?_ Looking down at the amber colored liquid in his glass Snape had to admit, someone had sent Potter some very nice brandy.

Of course that didn't by any measure balance out the unpleasantness of his talk with the boy; Snape felt his temper spark even at the remembrance of his conversation with Potter and Dumbledore.

_Charming, _he mused bitterly, _as if the golden boy wasn't trouble enough trying to teach legilimancy two years ago...this will be an absolute _**_nightmare._ **Snape cringed as a new thought hit him. _Dealing with a single fifteen year old boy whose sexual exploits were limited to a single kiss is extremely different than dealing with a hormone-crazed seventeen-year old horror…do I even want to know what Potter thinks about during class?_ Snape hastily took a deep gulp of his drink and let the burning sensation rush down this throat; _most certainly not. _

Forcing himself to move on to less dismal thoughts, Snape remembered why he was coerced into staying at this maudlin celebration. Speaking with Potter wasn't the only reason he was here, no, Dumbledore had wanted an extra pair of eyes to watch over one of the Minstry's men in case they tried something – a Mister Gerald Taligan. Seeing as how Snape was already a Death Eater and couldn't very well be seen attending the Boy-Who-Lived's birthday party, he was the obvious choice to forego the festivities and remain on duty.

_No worries there_, he thought, thinking about his assignment, _Mister Taligan was passed out cold the last time I checked. I honestly never would have marked him as a lightweight with his firewhiskey. _

The sudden sound of approaching footsteps caught Snape's attention and he quickly made sure his drink was securely covered by the cloak as the shadow of a figure appeared around the corner at the entrance to the shed. Snape expertly readied his wand but as the person came into view Snape found himself face-to-face with none other than Hermione Granger.

Snape hadn't properly looked at Hermione since she was in third year – full of gangly preteen awkwardness and subtle nondescript features but ever since his look into Lucius's memory he'd wondered what he'd been missing this whole time. Now he knew.

Doe-eyes the color of caramel scanned the stacks upon stacks of reserve drink – she was obviously looking for something. Small but lush, pink lips were pursed in an expression of mild irritation and a single finger was tapping against a satin clad hip while the other hand dangled a full butterbeer bottle loosely from a slim hand. Her dress-robes were a pale cerulean and Snape could just make out the soft curve of her breast from beneath the oh-so-slightly dipping neckline. She was hardly stunning, provocative, or sweetly cute, but instead seemed to radiate an aura of unwitting elegance and loveliness.

Catching himself admiring the curve of her body a little too much than what was considered professional, Snape jerked himself from his thoughts and scowled into his cup of brandy. Obviously he'd had more than what was considered wise.

"Ahha!" came Hermione's sudden exclamation of success and Snape watched in mild amusement as she disappeared into a small nook between two stacks of crates.

_What in the world is that incessant chit looking for—"_ His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as the loud twittering of teenage girls sounded from the door way. Effortlessly he recognized his students' voices: Miss Padma Patil and Miss Tonya Ilgres of Ravenclaw.

"I swear, who the hell does she think she is?" Tonya was ranting to Padma as they entered the shed. Pausing at an open crate Tonya fished out two fresh bottles of butterbeer and handed one to her friend.

"I know! I mean showing up without a date is just sad, but when you show up alone and then proceed to flirt with everyone else's date it's just plain tacky!"

Snape caught a movement out of the corner of his eyes and turned to see Hermione half hidden and hovering on the edge of the shadows. The remains of a bright smile were slowly slipping from her face as the girls continued to chat on, completely oblivious to their unseen visitor.

"Uh, I just can't stand it!" Tonya was saying, "Dean was blabbering on like some idiot whenever Hermione said something to him. Can't they see she only got all tarted up to make Ron jealous?"

Padma made a vague gesture. "I don't know Tonya, I was talking with Ginny Weasley earlier and she said Hermione's over Ron. Apparently after he picked Lavender over her, _again_, that was the last straw."

Tonya made an unattractive snort into her bottle. "That's such a load of shit. Everyone knows they'll end up together, even _Ron_ knows it, why else to you think he runs after every girl that so much as _looks_ at him? I bet ten galleons he just wants to get his kicks in while he can. Plus, it's not like she has any other offers. Really Padma, that girl is such a _bore_ sometimes."

Snape watched the hurt shoot through Hermione's eyes as she listened. Quietly and carefully he saw her take a step back into the nook, the bottle of claret she'd been searching for long forgotten in her hand.

"Oh come on Tonya, give her a break, she's caught up in this war as much as Harry and Ron—"

"And yet _they _still manage to have a little fun every now and then without looking like a whore."

Snape felt an uncalled for burst of anger rise up in his chest and he watched helplessly as the two girls exited the shed, still gossiping like the jealous girls they were. The idea of hexing their dresses to unravel wafted through his mind before he reluctantly dismissed it; he couldn't risk discovery. Soft foot steps sounded from his left and Snape turned to spy Hermione; her eyes were a little duller than they'd been when she'd first walked it, her happy blush now reduced to an unbecoming paleness, and the telltale shine of wetness glistened on her cheek causing Snape to realize she'd been crying.

Without conscious decision Snape felt his mind reach out and easily tap into the young woman's thoughts; it wasn't hard – her mind was practically screaming at herself.

_I never should have come…Merlin why did I come? I should have stayed at the Grimmauld Place – no dirty looks, no trailing whispers, no moronic people talking about things they couldn't possibly understand. I thought coming here would prove I was my own person…not some mindless twit that fawns after guys who obviously aren't interested…apparently I've now made it worse. Let Harry and Ron have their fun, I'll say I'm not feeling well…I just want to leave, I just want to go home. _

Another tear slipped silently down the smooth skin of her cheek and her lips trembled once before she wiped her face almost angrily. Jerking her wand out of her sleeve she quickly transfigures a nearly empty bottle into some kind of clothe…

Snape watched puzzled as she hastily picked up the material and began slipping it on top of her lovely gown. The transfigured robes were a darker blue – long, drab, _shapeless._ Quickly buttoning up the droll robes, Snape saw the last of the icy azure disappear and felt something akin to sadness settle in the depth of his chest. He watched with reluctant admiration as she wiped the last of her tears away and straightened her back before turning to the door. Without thinking he sent a small wordless burst of magic gently floating through the air to softly caress her cheek – a comforting touch to sooth nerves and ensue bravery.

Hermione lifted a hand to touch her cheek as she exited the shed, the feeling both reassuring and empowering as she walked towards the center of the party looking for Harry. She never once noticed the pair of dark, guarded eyes that followed her across the lawn from the shadows.

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**_REVIEW!_**

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	5. A Little Plotting

**I'm going to be completely honest with you – I didn't even read the 7****th**** book. I loved the Potter series up until the forth book. After that I, personally, felt they just lacked the magic that the first four captured. Sorry J.K. **

**Alright now for my annoying little author note – THANKS EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED!!! Honestly though, it was great hearing what you thought. I'd like to thank every one who commented about Snape's patronous (I have decided to change it though). **

**AU ANOUNCEMENTS: **

**For the purpose of this story – Hermione's birthday has been changed as well as Ron's. **

**Snape's patronous has been changed but that's ****not**** included in this chapter; that's for later on. **

**Harry ****will**** be considered a Halfblood and Snape a Pureblood. (Thanks Dramama) **

**I have now (hopefully) gone back and changed all my incorrect references with the whole legilimancy/occulmancy bit. **

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**Chapter Five - **

Snape slowly made his way from the party – the loud sounds of music and laughter giving away to the quiet tenor of woods as he walked the line of the forest edge. A cool breeze swept across the grounds causing his heavy cloak to billow about his ankles; he looked up at the cloudless sky, realizing with a start that it was a little past noon.

_Noon…they gave her 'till noon_, he thought, remembering Lucius's words as an uncomfortable weight seemed to settle in his chest, _she's missed the deadline._

Snape halted in his steps and ran a tired hand roughly over his face, as if trying to erase the guilt that suddenly burdened his conscious. _It's done_, he thought, dropping one of his hands to rest at his side as the other rubbed the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture of tenseness. _Merlin, she can barely stand the spurs of spiteful housemates, how in the world will_ _she cope with the loss of both her parents in such a brutal manner? She is brilliant I will admit…but Merlin, so vulnerable. Let's hope those idiots she calls friends prove to be enough to get her through this…_

The sudden rustle of nearby foliage abruptly jerked Snape from his thoughts, and he temporarily forgot the protection of his disillusion cloak as he whipped out his wand. Silent and still he waited; a less experienced man may have written the sound off as a pesky squirrel or just the sounds of the wind but Snape was no yearling to the game of war. He was a spy through and through, with both the instincts and prejudices that came with his profession; constant vigilance, distrust, speculation, awareness, and guarded actions – they were what kept him in this game, they were what kept him alive, and they were what told him – _that was no squirrel. _

With the patience that came with a lifetime of practice, Snape waited, his ears and eyes attuned to pick on the slightest of disturbances from shadowed trees. _There!_ he thought, his focus narrowing in on a clump of low shrubs as the rustling sounded once again followed by an almost inhuman groan of pain.

Soundlessly, Snape stalked between the low shrubs and bit back an audible curse as the source of the noise came into view.

A large man lay prone on his back; his arms and legs bound by an obvious full body bind hex and the dark scarlet robes that marked him as a Ministry auror twisted beneath him. Narrowing his dark eyes, Snape could tell the man had only been hit with minimal damaging curses – enough to detain but not severely injure. Struggling against the hex, the man was desperately trying to say something yet the only sounds that left his mouth were incomprehensible grunts and groans. Judging from the intensity of his struggles and the lack of perspiration Snape realized that he must not have been here long.

_I've got to get to Dumbledore_, _someone's breached the wards,_ he thought, alarm racing through him making his heartbeat race and adrenaline pump through his veins. Quickly muttering the countercurse for the hex, Snape released the inept auror from his bonds before racing out of the lightly concealed grove.

_Damn, damn damn!_ He inwardly shouted as he spied the sudden appearance of dark clouds forming over the party at the top of the next hill. _Who knows how many have slipped through those wards – hiding, waiting on the outskirts of the forest! Could be five, could be forty, damnit! Why the hell wasn't the Ward Caster alerted when the wards were breached! Ministry idiots!_

Halfway up the hill, he saw the sudden slinking figures of black clad men stealthily making their way towards the back of the musician's stage. Around him, the music continued to play and people chattered on oblivious to deathly danger swarming in around them. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead as Snape sprinted uphill, there was no way to warn everyone to get to safety in time at this rate; he needed something to call their attention to the surrounding Death Eaters and _fast_.

Making a drastic decision, Snape pointing his wand at the cursed dark mark that marred the smooth skin of his forearm and whispered a hasty _Morsmordre _into the now frigid air. Immediately, the ugly mark seemed to burn an intense ebony; the smell of burning flesh rising off his skin and he clenched his jaw painfully to keep from screaming out in agony. As abruptly as it started, the pain ceased and a jet of black and silver power shot from Snape's wand to race into the air with blinding speed. The darkened sky flashed for a moment as the spell made impact, before the terrifying smoky shape of the Dark Mark coiled into the air.

The effect was immediate; Order members snapped out of conversation - their looks of alarm soon overridden by faces of loathing, determination, and protectiveness. The music abruptly cut off with a sharp high-pitch note, and the sound of rushing feet filled the air as frightened guest sprinted towards the Portkey. Parents grabbed small children from their game of tag, boyfriends and husbands pushed their loved ones towards the escape; the guest's reactions were so fast Snape had to wonder if they hadn't been expecting this sort of thing all along. The only ones who seemed to still be caught in shock were the Death Eaters – Snape smirked nastily; that had obviously not been part of their plan.

The Order's fleeting advantage was quickly lost however as a hooded figure that was obviously a member of the inner circle, though Snape could not tell who, rushed out into the open – a deadly myriad of complex and destructive curses flying from the tip of his wand as he took out a Ministry member with both grace and effectiveness.

_Lucius_, Snape realized, cursing as he jumped out of the way of a stray hex, _this must be another one of his private assignments. Why the hell is he here though? I thought he'd be waiting on Granger… _

A crack of unnatural lightning shot through the air striking the trunk of a nearby tree; Snape jerked his eyes shut as the sudden onslaught of blinding light split the tree in half with a ferocity that shook the ground. Chips of wood flew through the air – a single sliver grazing Snape's cheek as he rolled away from the crippled tree and quickly made his way to the center of the battle. Here the air was filled with the shouts of curses, hexes, jinx, charms, and spells all ranging from sentences of death to simple stunning spells.

Ducking behind a garden statue, Snape relied on the obscurity his cloak provided to strategically take out Death Eaters as they turned their backs to him. He knew he couldn't be caught, for it was a death sentence to even be _spotted _here, and yet he could not stand by idly and watch as Order members defended their position of the back entrance of the Weasley house while Death Eaters closed in around them.

_They're young_, he thought, his naturally observant eyes taking in the pitiable yet enthusiastic skill with which these death eaters dueled, _probably new recruits. _He scowled at realization hit him; their objective was obviously not to win this scrimmage, the Dark Lord would never have sent such a pathetic group if that was their objective, no - Lucius was most likely only leading a suicidal raid in the hope that _maybe_ someone of importance died on the crossfire. Severus had seen these types of raids used many times before.

_How very heroic of him, _Snape thought, disgust boiling up inside his chest as he let loose another curse, _as soon as the tide turns he'll probably use that damned Portkey he always carries around with him and be instantly transported to safety._ _Fucking coward. _

A statute near Snape was suddenly blown to pieces as a powerful yet poorly aimed blasting spell cut through the battle field. Following the path of the spell, Snape effortlessly picked out the flaming red hair that stood dueling with another Death Eater towards the center of the struggle.

_Weasley, _he realized and narrow his eyes, _Ah, Ronald. My, my, I didn't know the boy had that kind of power in him…_

Snape watched as yet another spell missed its mark, nearly hitting Remus in the back as he dueled with Lucius and all traces of admiration abruptly left Snape; the Weasley boy was going to take out a member of his own side if he didn't rein in his curses! Slipping out from behind the statue Snape swiftly made his way towards the redhead.

_What the hell is Dumbledore thinking, allowing him to stay behind without proper training! _He thought, spinning to one side to avoid a stray _Avada Kedavra_ that whistled past his ear. A drip of sweat ran down his shoulder blades at the close encounter, and Snape pulled the disillusion cloak tighter around himself as he dodged around both enemy and ally, slowly but surely making his way to the redhead's side. He hissed a soft incantation into the air and immediately tree roots emerged from the ground to coil around the dueling Death Eater's ankles and pull him to the ground. A rough stunning spell from Weasley finished the match before the young man turned and faced the empty air – his wand raised and his breath coming in short pants.

"Who the hell's there?" he growled, struggling to be heard over the sound of both battle and thunder as the conjured storm picked up.

Snape noticed the rage burning in the younger man's eyes and he realized the Death Eater must have been taunting the boy as they dueled – it was a common enough strategy; enrage your advisory to the point of lost control and wait for them to make a mistake – hopefully a mistake that would cost them their lives. In Weasley's case it seemed to inflame his temper and reduce his aim thereby leaving him open for attack. Snape was glad he'd managed to get to the Death Eater before the dark wizard tore the younger man to pieces.

"Lower your wand this instant, Weasley," he whispered harshly, loud enough to be heard by the Gryffindor but softly enough not to carry.

The redhead jumped at the silky hiss but obediently lowered his wand. His ridged stance and smoldering glare however did not waver.

"You nearly took out both Remus and myself with your atrocious aim, Weasley," Snape said heatedly, "If you honestly believe yourself ready to fight by our side, then think again. Now, I'm ordering you return to the Portkey this instant. This is no place for a child much less one who can barely hold his own."

"You can't—"

"I just did," Snape snapped, his temper becoming frayed as he tried to force the stubborn boy to leave while keeping an eye on the ongoing battle.

"Harry and Hermione are still both here," the boy said, his voice becoming raised and his face becoming redder as his infamous temper sparked once again, "You might be content to hide in the shadows but real men aren't afraid of a fight!"

With that declaration, the younger wizard hurried away, his curses becoming so powerful as he vented his anger that the spells didn't even have to be a direct hit to cause harm; being in the vicinity was enough. Snape cursed viciously as he watched the redhead joined a slightly smaller figure in blue that stood dueling two lumbering Death Eaters towards the far right end of the battle.

_Damnit!_ He thought, making his way as fast as he dared over the grounds. Around him he could tell the Order had managed to effectively evacuate the majority of the guests and, as his gaze swept across the scene, Snape was satisfied to see that most of the bodies littering the ground wore black robes and alabaster masks – though, not all of them. The Death Eaters were slowly but surely falling back.

Coming along side the hotheaded adolescent, Snape hung obscurely back – hitting Death Eaters that came too close to the two dueling figures and hovering protectively in the background as he made sure Dumbledore's golden protégés weren't harmed. The blue clad figure spun to jinx a hooded man that had crept up behind Remus and Snape watched with satisfaction as the man seemed to loose all control over his major limbs and slump undignified to the ground.

_Very nice, Miss Granger_, he thought, impressed as she didn't even pause to admire her handiwork before turning to face the next challenger.

_"Dorthmara!"_ A cold, harsh voice rang out across the battle field and Snape spun only in time to see a blinding, frantic magenta light slam into Remus – effectively throwing him into the air before crashing down unmoving in a heap almost twenty feet from where Lucius stood, tall and smug even behind his glowing white mask.

A movement to his side caught his attention and Snape only barely managed to jump out and catch the frantic girl securely around her waist as she tried to fight her way to the werewolf's side.

"Stop it! Let me go!" she yelled, twisting frantically in his strong grip as she tried to get free. Snape made a split decision before she could call attention to herself and wrapped her tightly in the concealing folds of his cloak.

"Silence, Miss Granger," he whispered, his voice controlled and deliberate as he spoke softly into her ear. "You can't go to him. Look – Lucius is already close enough to kill him. There's nothing you can do right now."

Snape could see tears in her eyes as she watched Lucius swagger up aside the unconscious man and raise his wand dramatically in the air for all to see. And yet, much to Snape's surprise, as Lucius muttered the spell, his wand emitted a pulsing dark light instead of the telltale green jet of the killing curse. The air was silent for a moment at the spell drifted into the air – nothing moved, nothing spoke, it was almost was if time had frozen.

And then – all hell broke loose.

A terrible high-pitched scream filled Snape's ears and he ducked his head as he pulled his unwilling captive further into the shelter of a nearby hedge. The earth grew cold and haunting as dark shapes swooped through the air above the field. Snape felt goosebumps cover the body of the young woman in his arms and he unconsciously tightened his hold as a tremble swept through her.

_Dementors_, he thought, cursing the vile creatures that now darkened the sky with their ragged ghost-like appearance, _he summoned the Dementors. Merlin, he wants them to give Lupin the Kiss. The slimy bastard!_

Suddenly a stong, voice filled the air, the subtely condescending tone coming from the other side of the field as the tall, proud Boy-Who-Lived stepped forward. Even from across the battle Snape could see the mocking glint of Potter's eyes but he felt a small wave of reassurance wash over him as he spied Dumbledore by standing regally beside Potter.

"Is that all you've got?" he yelled at the figure standing over Remus, Snape could tell he didn't recognize Lucius, "A couple measly dementors? Does your _Lord_ really think that's enough to take us down? Think again!"

_God damnit Potter get on with it!_ Snape mentally screamed and watched unimpressed as the boy let loose his patronus. An elegant stag appearing before him, its antlers glowing a stunning white as he galloped forward and caught an off guard Lucius directly in the chest. The Death Eater stumbled, his wand flying from his hand as he was he flung backwards into the dirt.

The affect was immediate; Order members began casting their own patronus's; everything imaginable from the animal kingdom while the Death Eaters seemed to shrink back with the Dementors at the sight of their leader's fall. The feeling of impending cold and emptiness slowly receded with their retreat, but the air remained cold enough to create small huffs of smoke from Snape's lips.

The Potions Master caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye as a figure abruptly sprinted towards the still fallen Death Eater; his intent obviously not to let the stunned dark wizard recover and reach his wand.

Suddenly a shark blow to his gut knocked the air out of Snape, and he hunched forward as the slip of a girl slipped out of his grasp running towards the duo.

"Ron, no!" she screamed as her friend approached the death eater, "he's got a second wand!"

Cold, deathly grey eyes suddenly turned to lock on her own soft brown ones and Hermione felt her blood run cold. _She knew those eyes…_ Without warning the man whipped out his concealed wand and aimed, not at the boy less than ten feet in front of him, but at the girl that stood beyond him – her wand clasped tightly in her hand, her eyes scared but determined, her lips already forming a curse. He let power surge through him body, ignoring the searing pain that shot through him as her hex made impact, but smiling chillingly in content as his own curse slammed into her smaller body sending her flying backwards.

"Payback, Mudblood," he whispered into the wind, "for the Department of Mysteries."

Without further ceremony, he pulled a necklace out of the hem of his robes, muttered a softly spoken activation spell, and disappeared with a final hiss of green smoke.

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"Minister," Percy Weasley asked as he faithfully tailed behind the short wizard, his arms loaded with scrolls and forms waiting for the Minister's signature, "Do you really think it was wise to send Auror Taligan as the ward caster? You know how he is with his alcohol – can't resist a good drink."

"Calm yourself, Percival," the dumpy little wizard said, waving his hand airily, "Mister Taligan will serve the Ministry's interests well enough."

Percy's brow furrowed in confusion. "The Ministry's interests sir?" he asked, careful to keep his tone respectful, "Isn't protecting Harry Potter in the Ministry's interest? I mean, if there were to be an attack—"

"It's already happened," Cornelius Fudge said, his voice devoid of any sort of worry or regret. Stopping in front of the large mahogany doors to his office the Minister turned to look expectantly at Percy's gaping face. "Well?" he said, gesturing impatiently to the doors.

Percy quickly shook himself from his shock and, quickly rearranging the mountain of papers in his hands, respectfully opened the heavy door to the Minister's private study as the smaller man swept in.

"I can see you're surprised, Percival," he said, dropping unceremoniously into the plush purple chair of the Minister of Magic, "but you see, I received a tip a couple days ago from a…fairly reliable source. If everything goes to plan my reporter should be getting some quite influential shots of death eaters raiding the Potter boy's coming-of-age celebration as we speak."

"You purposely let the wards down?" Percy gasped incredulously, the scrolls in his arms tipping dangerously as he focused his disbelief on the man before him. "It was my family that was hosting that party! Are you telling me you put my family and a great many of my friends at risk all for some _picture_?!"

The Minister's eyes narrowed at the younger wizard's reaction and his mouth thinned into a tight line. "Obviously you have not yet taken my teachings into heart, young man," he said haughtily, "this shot will be no mere _picture,_ as you so eloquently put it. No, this is much more. With that picture I will finally be able to show Dumbledore for the addled old fool he is; honestly, can you imagine the public's reaction when they discover he couldn't even keep Death Eaters out of his own golden boy's birthday party?"

"But my family…" the younger man began.

"Has picked the wrong side," Fudge interrupted, his beady eyes flashing in temper, "With the Dark Lord's return to power our society will need tight control and a cool head to handle the situation. Not some gallivanting old fool who rides on the glory of past victories. They need to have faith in their government. If I could, I would charge Albus with conspiracy to overthrow the Ministry for his interference with the war thus far – unfortunately, he's already got his tricky little tentacles sunk into those gullible fools at the Wizengamot and they'd never convict him of it. So it seems I must take this matter into my own hands…off the books."

The Minister paused for a moment, letting his words sink into the young man's susceptible mind.

"In my efforts I will be needing the assistance of a couple of my most trusted men…I had hoped you would share my vision and put old loyalties aside for me, Percival. There is a spot for you by my side, and when this war is over and I am hailed as the savior these people need, you will be remember as one of my most essential wing men."

Percy nodded slowly, his mind caught up in the glorious picture the Minister painted as ambition slowly clouding over his judgment.

"I can see your point," he said carefully, "Dumbledore is constantly in the way of our work and my family has always been stuck so far in the past with their history and their traditions it makes it hard for them to see things from a new perspective. I think action with a bit of discretion would serve our purposes best."

"Excellent!" Fudge commended, his face smug and his eyes glazed with excitement, "I knew I could count on you, Percival. I'm glad you've come to your senses but for now I must insist we continue this discussion later. You never know who is listening. I would like for you to go and fetch the Intelligence Department's latest deport on half-breed loyalty within the war."

The Minster scowled in disgust and Percy's ears perked at the bit of new information.

"Dumbledore is once again pushing for the Ministry's assistance in ensuing half-breed loyalty. What bollocks! Filthy, uncivilized beasts – I say let the Dark Lord have them!"

"The Dark Lord has been appealing to the half-breeds?" Percy asked, anxiety lacing his voice. As primitive as the half-breeds were, there was no doubt they were dangerous and could be essential to the war effort.

"Indeed," Fudge replied, standing up from his chair to pace the grand room, "from what we've collected he's making plans towards the centaurs, werewolves, nosferatu—"

"The vampires?" Percy asked shocked, "Surely they don't plan on entering the war. They almost never leave their territory."

"The Dark Lord is offering them something, although _what_ exactly our spies have not been able to determine. All we know is that they are considering it. Damned freaks of nature; we should have done away with the half-breeds long ago."

Percy nodded his head in agreement; half-human, half-beast always felt a bit…wrong to him. Nature was not meant to mix and match.

"Anyway," the Minister continued, "that fool of a headmaster has been pushing interracial treaties but, lucky, I have managed to hold them off…for now. Can you believe he wanted the half-breeds to be included _as equals_ in the war effort?! Most certainly not! I understand using werewolves to guard the grounds of my house per say, but I adamantly refuse to _pay them for it_. No, it's best if we treat them as the beasts they are – something more deadly than a lion and much more stupid and stubborn."

Percy nodded, listening intently to the powerful man's speech. He admired this man, this revolutionary thinker and Percy's determination to prove his worth increased with each passionate word of Fudge's intense rhetoric. With a final huff and dramatic wave of his hand, the Minster finished and turned to pour himself a drink from a waiting decanter.

"That will be all, Percival," he said, taking a sip and letting out a deep breath of air before turning away to gaze out the great windows that adorned the hall, "I have much to do but I thank you for your loyalty and devotion. You will be rewarded in time, young man."

With a final grin, Percy bowed and respectfully exited the room.

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_**REVIEW!**_

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**THANKS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!**

**Poll- We're now changing Snape's patronus. No does! (doe, plural) What should it be? Also, what's a good amigus form? Everyone does snakes…**

P.P.S. - **HUGE THANKS TO ALL YOU REVIEWERS!! NEW RECORD WOOT WOOT! -- REVIEW RECORD: 18**


	6. Love, Hermione

**THANK YOU READERS WHO REVIEWED! And yes, I did beat my record to anyone who's keeping track. I was pretty excited. ****NEW REVIEW RECORD:**** 23……**_**BEAST. **_

**Other than that, I hope you enjoy and please review, even if it's just a little 'nice chapter'. It means a lot. **

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**Chapter Six-**

The small room off the side of the Weasley's kitchen was full of tension as the tiny but authoritative woman hurriedly leaned over Remus's limp form. A wisp of silvery hair slipped from her bun and she pushed it back impatiently as her wand swept over the man's form emitting a soft glowing light of blue and magenta. His eyes were closed, his chest rising a bit too slowly and his heart beat a bit too sluggish for her taste but he was alive.

"He's stable…for now," the witch stated, her voice strained as she addressed the small gathering of people who hovered uncertainly around the edges of the room.

"Healer Syrca," Professor McGonagall called from the other bed, "we need more dressings for Miss Granger; she's started bleeding again."

Cursing almost inaudibly, the aged woman quickly made her way to the opposite bed and looked down at her other impromptu patient.

_She's so young_, the Healer immediately thought, _why in Merlin's name didn't she portkey to safety?" _

Hermione's pale face lay serenely against her pillow in grueling contrast the crimson pool slowly seeping through the cloth pressed firmly to her side. None of the spells Healer Syrca had tried made any difference on the long diagonal slash that had ripped across the young fighter's ribcage but she had managed to put the girl under a deep sleep spell to save her some of the pain of the wound. The young woman's dark blue outer robes had been stripped away to help clot the bleeding; It had worked…but only for a while.

"I think the man was hit with an extremely potent energy draining spell," the Healer said as she sat down beside Professor McGonagall and expertly scrutinized Hermione's wound, "his heartbeat is still too slow and his lungs are steadily shutting down. I can't heal his nor this girl's wounds here, we'll need to get them both to St. Murgo's immediately."

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"You bastard!" the young enraged wizard yelled, lunging for the tall, black clad figure that stood unflinching before him. Only the fast acting pair of strong hands that suddenly gripped Harry around his waist kept the furious wizard from tackling the older sorcerer to the ground.

"Stop that this instant!" Kingsley whispered urgently in his ear but Harry paid no mind as he struggled furiously against him.

"He's a fucking traitor!" Harry said, his voice laced with rage, "It's his fault Remus and Hermione are lying hurt in St. Murgo's! If he had done his bloody job and warned us about the attack beforehand we could have been prepared and none of this would have happened!"

"My fault indeed," Snape sneered softy, his obsidian eyes flashing at the wizard.

"Yes, your fault," Harry growled, shrugging off Kingsley's grip to stand rigid in the middle of the room as it's occupants looked on with wary but unsurprised eyes. This confrontation had been a long time coming – perhaps it was better to just let it play out.

"I know you were at the party, slinking about as usual," Harry said, his tone laced with venom, "but where were you when the fighting started? Where were you when Remus was hit? I didn't see _your_ patronus fighting off any of the dementors. I wonder if you even have one. When was the last time you delivered _useful_ information to the Order? When was the last time you fought for your life or risked your neck for another?"

The stony expression that graced Snape's face didn't so much as waver; it was as if he were waiting for the younger wizard to run out of steam. Unfortunately, his stoic demeanor only seemed to further enrage the younger man.

"Answer me damn it!" Harry yelled, his voice ricocheting off the wall, the air prickling with even more tension. The occupants of the room saw this but none dared interfere.

The tall, dark figure slowly uncrossed his arms – his movements smooth and measured beneath voluminous robes like a snake uncoiling itself before striking.

"Listen to me you arrogant child," Snape hissed slowly, rage evident in his voice despite his indifferent outward appearance, "I do not answer to you, not now – not ever. I see no need to defend my actions to a mere _child_ who seems to be under the fanciful delusion that we are in fact _equals_, when in all honestly Potter, you contribute least to the Order—"

Harry once again lunged for the wizard but seemed to freeze in midair before he could so much as take another step.

"Reverting back to your muggle upbringing I see," Snape taunted, his wand now held loosely in long, tapered fingers, "Physical attacks – how quaint."

Taking an imposing step forward, Snape leaned down to hiss almost conspiringly in Harry's ear. "I don't need to defend my loyalties nor my tactics to you Potter, however I think in this instance you should at least be aware that while you may not have _seen _me fight, it is only because of that fact that both Weasley and Granger are still alive. Also, the next time you pick a fight boy, at least have the decency to fight me alone, this room full of your fans does nothing for your image of so-called Gryffindor bravery."

Harry's eyes widened at the man's words and he quickly twisted his head to look around the room. Sure enough, the room was filled with an air of suspense and Harry noticed almost everyone's wands were drawn – and all of them subtly angled at the Potions Master.

Snape took a step back, releasing the boy from his bonds with an abrupt jerk of his wand and watching in silent satisfaction as both deep guilt and shame settled on the younger wizard's face. His stance was far from respectful, but it had lost its violent edge and his temper seemed to be temporarily pacified.

"I have had enough of this patronizing child's tiff, Potter," Snape snapped, "Now, unless you have something to bring up with me that is actually _worth _my time, _**get**__ out of my sight.__"_

Harry looked like he was about to protest but at the same time Kingsley stepped between the two wizards.

"That will be enough out of you Potter," he said, the authority in his voice audible to all those in the room. Kingsley turned to face the small group of loiterers that littered the room, his usually easy going face set in an expression of disapproval and displeasure. "Haven't you all got something better to be done with your time?" he asked sharply and watched with hardened eyes as the room quickly emptied – Harry stalking out in the lead without another word shortly followed by his band of followers.

As the sound of footsteps quietly faded away, Snape turned to Kingsley - his face unreadable yet not unkind as he regarded the man before him.

"Much like a pack of wolves are they not, eh Severus?" Kingsley asked softly.

Not replying, the potions master turned to leave. It had been over forty-eight hours since he last slept and even hardened spies had their limits. Pausing at the doorway, Snape gave his fellow Order member a small nod – the closest thing to thanks anybody had ever received from the guarded wizard before his sweeping figure once again disappeared through the doors of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

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_Dear Mom and Dad, _

_I'm so sorry for not writing until now but so much has been going on lately I just don't know where to begin. I guess I'll start off with the good news – I made Head Girl! The letter just came this morning along with my badge; I wish you could see it. Being Head Girl will mean a little more responsibility than being a Prefect – longer patrol hours, higher expectations, and so on but it's a huge honor and I'm so happy I was picked._

_One of the perks of being Head Girl is that I get my own chambers – no more boy-crazed, crystal ball gazing roommates for me! But I'll be sharing the common room with Head Boy; I can only hope it's not Draco Malfoy (the boy I told you about?) and Dumbledore adamantly refuses to tell me so I'll just have to wait and see. _

_I also have another bit of exciting news – Dumbledore's asked me to help participate in a rather obscure charm he hopes to cast over Harry and Professor Snape in order to help with their occulemency lessons (like mind reading). From the way the Headmaster explained it to me, it's a binding spell that connects the awareness of three people using three different aspects of their psyche – heart, body, and mind. _

_I won't actually be playing a major role in the charm – I'm solely involved for the purpose of fulfilling the charm's requirements – but I'm really excited about being able to witness such a powerful spell. I've had a bit of free time to research it this last week so I took the liberty of pulling a couple books on the subject. Unfortunately, there hasn't been a lot of research on the spell but from what I have read it's an extremely unpredictable spell because it changes depending on the circumstance and individuals involved in the ritual. This charm is extremely important to the safety of the Order so of course I agreed to participate, not to mention the Headmaster assures me we'll be able to handle any unforeseen consequences of the charm._

Hermione paused, lifting her quill from the parchment as she wondered how to go on. The light from the Recovery Ward windows streamed in from the afternoon sun causing the severe white décor of the chamber to seem almost blinding in its brilliance. Shading her eyes slightly, Hermione hesitantly worded her next sentences.

_Now for the bad news; I'm afraid I've ruined the dressrobes you bought for me Mom. The icy blue ones with the silver trim? I won't go into all the details but there was an unplanned incident at Harry's birthday party last Tuesday and they're completely ruined. I'm so sorry, perhaps we can go shopping together next break? _

Hermione stopped writing for a moment as she tried to still her slightly trembling hand. _Ruined indeed_, she thought sadly, remembering the beautiful gown soaking in blood – _your blood_, her mind reminded her and she couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down her spine. Mud had caked the hem of the robes along with a sharp, jagged rip about eight inches long that had completely destroyed the intricate stitching up the sides of the gown – it had been irreparable and beyond saving but Hermione still felt the sting of loss as she thought about the dress she and her mom had picked out only weeks before.

_I miss you Mom and Dad_, she thought, the hurtful pressure of longing settling in her chest as she remembered the short time she'd been able to visit her parents that summer. It had been necessary to both her safety and that of her parents but Hermione still felt a little cheated in retrospect. Turning back to her letter, Hermione made a silent vow to stay in close contact with her parents over the next couple months – even if it was only through letters.

_I hope you both are well and having a restful summer and I want you to know I miss you so very much. I love you._

_Yours truly, your devoted daughter,_

_-Hermione_

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"I will not accept this incompetence Lucius!" the hooded black figure hissed viciously, his inhuman face contorted into an odious expression of fury.

The members of the circle seemed to inhale as one as they watched the crimson of their lord's eyes become more distinct with each frantic gasp of the slumped figure before him.

_"Crucio,"_ came the whispered curse yet again and Snape wondered vaguely if the Dark Lord aimed to kill the man tonight. It was already his sixth bout with the curse – enough to maim a regular man or throw him into the abyss of insanity as the agony ripped through every muscle in this body and screams cut through the air like white hot knives. The spy doubted Lucius's tolerance to the brunt of the curse would hold out much longer.

Snape watched emotionlessly as Lucius's body instinctually coiled into itself – trying to contain the pain, or at least bear it as the curse rippled through him. His breathing was hardly more than erratic gasps by now and his usually flawless manner was reduced to that of a whimpering, twitching, broken man who lay contorted in the dirt.

The moon shone brightly tonight – its beams of ghostly white light casting the long-forgotten tombstones of the remote graveyard in a silvery glow. The serenity of it all made Snape inwardly shiver as crimson eyes turned to gaze around the circle – looking for weakness, looking for unworthiness, looking for deception.

"I gave you two chances Luciuss," he hissed softly, still circling the rigid body of Malfoy Sr. as he spoke softly into the cool night air, "Two plans, two goals – two _failures!_" His voice suddenly radiated anger and power as he encircled his prey, his alabaster fist curled tightly over the long black length of his wand. "Tell me Lucius, how is it that you manage to capture, not one, but _both_ the mudblood's precious parents and yet you still fail me in retrieving the girl? Was it really above your level of ability? Do I ask that much?"

"No my lord," came the weak, scratchy reply as Lucius managed to push himself into a kneeling position, his weight still supported on his forearms as he prostrated himself before the Dark Lord. Snape could see the visible ripple in the muscles of the death eater's back as the telltale spasms swept through him.

"I'm sorry master," the kneeling figure gasped, "please, forgive me. Had I known the mudblood would have been so coldhearted toward her parents I never would have wasted your time."

"Indeed," came the menacing reply, his voice low and dangerous as he circled slowly, "and what of the Potter's coming of age party? The fool of a Minister handed you the perfect opportunity to get _at least_ a couple of those annoying Order members out of my way yet all you return with is news that the werewolf is in critical condition – although likely to recover – and the mudblood has once again slipped through your greasy fingers?!"

Lucius flinched.

"All was not wasted my lord," he whispered, his voice very small and the Dark Lord stopped in his motions to look down at his follower – the faint glimmer of interest in his eyes.

"Really," he purred, coming to a halt, "do share Lucius."

Raising his head, the long length of his platinum blond hair fell across his face as an expression of mendacious glee cross his features despite his obvious agony. Pushing his hair away with a graceful – if slightly shaking – hand, Lucius began eagerly.

"A few days before Potter's celebration, I approached the Minister. I managed to convince him that, while I am still in connection with my…contacts of not quite reputable prestige, I am quite entirely on his side of the war. He knows my feelings towards Dumbledore, and to a degree, the fool shares my sentiments." Lucius's eyes gleamed in the moonlight. "It is perfect my lord, Severus will play the role of the double spy for the Order, and I shall be your contact into the Ministry. With both of us manipulating the light side against each other, our activities will remain unhindered and your power unchecked."

The crimson of Voldemort's eyes seemed to shine for a moment, not in vicious intent or unbridled fury, but in cruel anticipation.

"Well done my death eater," the Dark Lord purred, making a slightly beckoning gesture of his hand and watching as a lower member of the circle quickly stepped forward to help his brethren from his place on the ground. A sharp hiss of pain radiated through the night air as Lucius was helped up and assisted back to his spot in the circle.

His temper temporarily sated, the Dark Lord turned his attention to the remainer of the death eaters.

"Aside from Lucius's mishap with the mudblood, our ranks have done well this past week – a muggle town was laid to ruins, the filth that resided there put in their proper places, our campaign with the both the werewolves and the giants are coming along very nicely. Unfortunately—" the Dark Lord turned to glare frighteningly at the small, rodent-like figure of Wormtail that stood submissively in the shadows, "—our correspondence with the nosferatu and the centaurs seem to have been temporarily…_interrupted,_ due to the meddling of Dumbledore." Loathing rose up in the Dark Lord's eyes at the mention of the wizards and Snape felt a drip of cold sweat slip down his back as the serpentine man turned his attention toward him.

"What have you to report my spy? Surely you must have some news of the old man's movements."

"Of course my lord," Snape replied, executing a low bow out of reverence before continuing, "Aside from preparation for the beginning of the school year, Dumbledore has currently been extremely busy fighting the Minister's 'Emergency Halfbreed Constriction Act'. He opposes the act as if it were of great importance my lord…or great danger."

Seeing the inquisitive look grace the Dark Lord's face, Snape continued, his tone one of someone betraying the choicest of deep secrets. "I have heard the act has been in the making for a while, with both the Minister and many high ranking officials backing it. In essence the act is an approval of the revocation of halfbreed rights. The Minister seems to be of the opinion that if they were to rule over the subhuman races they could be used as tools – weapons really; lethal, dangerous, and powerful."

The Dark Lord paced slowly, his wand unconsciously stroking the pale underside of his arm as he mused over the information. His expression was one of thoughtful deliberation – could this be used as an advantage? If so, then how? Snape could almost see the wheels in his twisted mind turning.

"And Dumbledore is against this legislation?" he asked finally and Snape nodded.

"Yes master, he believes we should try to win their allegiance, not force it." A little sneer of disgust crossed Snape's features. "He has no qualms using people; he is a legendary manipulator and a sly master in how he uses his pawn – but he does not physically force people to obey him."

"A flaw of a weaker mind," Voldemort mused softly, "of course, there are some benefits to his thinking, and perhaps with this new act the halfbreeds will be more inclined to join our side. Their skill would be most useful indeed."

"But they are halfbreeds!" a new initiate interjected and Snape could almost see the stiffening of the Dark Lord's back as the newcomer spoke out of turn. It was never wise to speak out of turn.

"They are below even mudbloods and muggle filth, not even human!" the young man continued, taking his master's silence as a signal to continue instead of the deathly reality of what it truly signified, "We are the chosen people, the true race; it would be beneath us to sink to such levels as to work with these_ creatures! _Why even bother with these primitive beasts?"

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed, thin slits of scarlet against the alabaster of his face as he turned to the outspoken man, his wand twirling smoothly between long, pale fingers.

"Ah yes," he hissed softly, "why indeed." He walked in slow, unhurried steps towards the man, his expression unreadable but an undeniable waft of chill ran through the air. "You see Nidenvow," he began, "I, like many great men before me, recognize that power comes in many forms and am not so blinded by that pride that I ignore a potential advantage when it has been laid before me. The centaurs with their speed and natural inclination to divination, the giants with their size and raw strength, the werewolves with their savageness and hunting skills, and the nosferatu with their cold indifference and burning lust for all things decadent – each remarkably different, each distinctly dangerous."

The Dark Lord came to a halt before the man, a sickening smirk flickering across his features. "I welcome the strong, the loyal, and the cunning. And you, with your blatant disrespect and obvious thick headedness, actually posses the audacity to question me!?" Fear struck the young man, terror running through his veins as the Dark Lord's voice became more and more furious and cold-blooded with each passing word. "There is only one place for men like you Nidenvow."

Before the young man could even say a word in defense of his pitiful life, the raw, sizzling heat of a dark curse slammed into his midsection throwing him violently backwards onto the ground. There was a split second where the man thought that was the extent of the damage – and then the burning came. Snape closed his eyes just briefly as the hoarse screams of a dying young man reached his ears. Despite his years of service, Snape could never quite numb himself completely to the raw cruelty of some the Dark Lord's more eccentric curses – a living fire conjured by darkness to feast upon human flesh was merely one of many in his deathly repertoire.

Casting a shadowed look at his master, Snape could see perverse pleasure dancing in his scarlet eyes and Snape caught himself wondering, not for the first time, if it was the darkness that had swallowed the man…or the man that had tamed the darkness. Around the circle Snape could see the visible horror reflected in some of the newcomer's eyes and he even caught the faint glimpse of fear in those of some of the more seasoned death eaters. The Dark Lord's blatant disregard for life was something nobody misinterpreted and it was always a startling realization to understand that in the Dark Lord's eyes – almost everyone was replaceable.

Abruptly the screaming gave out and the Dark Lord turned away once again, not bothering to hide his disappointment at the sudden end to his amusement.

"Now, before we were so rudely interrupted," Voldemort began, his soft steps making not a sound as he continued in his habitual movement of circling the group, "Severus you were continuing in your report; surely that is not all that has happened these past momentous days. What of the Nosferatu and centaurs? I _know _the old man has been meddling in my plans; report, now."

Snape curling his hand into a fist under the cover of his robes; he had told Dumbledore that paltry piece of information concerning the Ministry's legislation would not satisfy Voldemort – but the old wizard had been adamant; anything more would be giving far too much information, they could not risk it.

"I'm sorry my lord," he said, part of his mind already beginning to ready himself for the pain that was sure to follow, "Dumbledore has not seen fit to include me in any plans regarding any treaties with the halfbreed clans. I will try harder next time my lord."

"Indeed," Voldemort sneered, obviously displeased at the news, "Severus I must say, you have disappointed me."

"You have my deepest apologies my lord," Snape whispered into the cool night air.

"Ah, but you see my faithful death eater," he said, his voice haunting, "it is not your apologies I want, it is your obedience. Perhaps both Lucius and you needed a lesson in remembering your duties this night."

Snape bowed his head in submission, knowing it was best to simply agree with the Dark Lord than try to beg and wheedle his way out of a punishment. The cruciatus curse was always used for retribution – clean, painful, easy to control and wield, but most importantly, it was a favorite of the Dark Lord. Despite his experience, Snape felt an unbidden chill run down his spine as Voldemort raised his wand high – fully intending to use this spectacle as warning to those in the lower ranks that failure would not be acceptable. Clenching his jaw, Snape waited for the pain that was certain to come.

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**_REVIEW!_**

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**_This story is relatively slow moving up until about chapter eight or so. Just a warning. But I do hope you'll continue :) _**


	7. Draconian

**This was one of my favorite chapters to write, I don't know why. Thanks to all you reviwers, I didn't meet my goal of 100 but I did appreciate all the wonderful comments and suggestions and hopefully this time I'll reach the mark. Finals are ****finally**** over, sorry for the wait, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Warning:**** Torture. **

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**_Chapter Seven-_**

_...Snape bowed his head in submission, knowing it was best to simply agree with the Dark Lord than try to beg and wheedle his way out of a punishment. The cruciatus curse was always used for retribution – clean, painful, easy to control and wield, but most importantly, it was a favorite of the Dark Lord. Despite his experience, Snape felt an unbidden chill run down his spine as Voldemort raised his wand high – fully intending to use this spectacle as warning to those in the lower ranks that failure would not be acceptable. Clenching his jaw, Snape waited for the pain that was certain to come..._

Pain. That was all he felt, all he knew. A thousand, white hot knives were slicing viciously through the muscles of his tall frame – twisting, jerking, stretching, _tearing_. Snape clenched his eyes shut, desperately fighting to keep his body from instinctually contracting his spastic muscles in an effort to lessen the agony he was in. He knew if he gave into his body's reflex to tighten protectively it would only make the outcome worse – such was the sadistic design of the Cruciatus curse, and yet, even with cold calculation and solid logic backing his reason, Snape found it unbelievably hard to forcibly relax his muscles and let the pain flow through him.

In had taken decades, and countless sessions of torture under the curse, but he had slowly mastered the tedious practice of strict self-control in an effort to thwart at least some of the curse's distinct brand of utter physical anguish. He let his mind separate from his body; he listened to the quiet tenor of the night instead of the malicious jeering from Death Eaters caught in the craze of bloodlust, he fought to keep his breathing steady even as each panting breath brought forth unbidden gasps, he focused on the beating of his heart instead of the gruesome ripping of his muscles as the spasms swept through him again and again. With every fiber of his being, he concentrated on letting the pain run unhindered through him instead of giving into the urge to curl into a ball and beg for mercy.

Some part of Snape's consciousness registered the distasteful fact that if he were to beg, and scream, and cry, the Dark Lord would probably be more lenient in his punishments, and yet, the mere thought of surrendering that small amount of dignity he retained was enough to cause an inward sneer of disgust; the noble line of Snape would not _grovel_.

_A hell of a lot of good that does you,_ a distant voice in the back of his mind mocked, _look at you; dignity you say, there is nothing left of you that could even claim dignity! An outcast, the last of your line, a loner, a Death Eater, a weapon, slave, traitor, and pariah; the only reason you even continue this charade as a spy is to feel as if you are of some use to someone._

Snape clenched his eyes tighter, pushing the scornful opinions of his conscious to the recesses of his mind. He knew what kind of man he was; untrustworthy, solitary, austere, dark – the very definition of debauchery by all standards. He could only imagine what he looked like now; collapsed on the ground, his body jerking severely into unnatural positions, the musky, salty smell of sweat and fear permeating the air as the coppery taste of blood from his clenched mouth trickled sickeningly down the back of his throat.

He could feel his muscles writhing in pain as if of their own accord beneath his sallow skin, helpless to the onslaught of raw dark power that pulsed in waves from his master's wand. Years ago, Lucius had once described the pain as 'having your insides brutally mangled and shredded by an invisible claw'. Nothing Snape had heard since then had ever come closer to the truth. Panting, Snape opened his eyes just barely only to find himself staring face to face with scarlet eyes that gleamed in something akin to lust. Hastily snapping them shut, Snape could only curl his hands into the course dirt on the ground searching for some kind of relief in his haze of pain.

A sudden, fresh wave of the curse washed over him and Snape felt as though an iron rod had been jammed down his spine, ripping through tissue, muscular, bone, and nerves as it twisted his body into another gruesomely unnatural angle.

_Kill me_, he thought frantically, nearly delirious in his state as he said the words he knew his master waited to hear, _please kill me. Just end it now – please, kill me. _

Abruptly Snape felt the curse recede and he dropped unceremoniously into a limp, twitching heap. Faintly he registered the fact that the Dark Lord was speaking to the circle but he could only lay sprawled on the ground as his body trembled.

_Get up_! he growled to himself, furious that he could barely find the strength to push himself up onto his hands. It was the only the threat of appearing weak that gave him the energy to rise into a kneeling position. The familiar feeling of nausea and uncontrollable tremors immediately rushed through his body only serving to magnify the pounding sound of blood in his temple and the labored panting of uneven breaths – he wouldn't be surprised if he vomited blood. Calming himself with decades of experience and iron control, Snape pushed past the frivolities of physical pain to focus in on his master's words.

"Have we learned our lesson, my faithful servant?" the Dark Lord mocked in his wispy, treacherously smooth voice as he stepped closer so that the dark shine of his boots was inches from the exhausted Death Eater's lowered face.

"Yes, my Lord," Snape rasped, his throat dry and sore from trying not to scream. "Thank you for your patience. I will have more information for you soon, I swear it."

"See that you do, Severus. I will not hesitate to double your punishment next time if you fail me again," the Dark Lord responded. Turning away, he motioned silently to two shadows that hovered on the verge of the circle. Immediately they stepped forward and moved to lift Snape from his fallen position.

"Don't bother, you wretches," Snape hissed, placing his hands on his knees and pushing himself up into an unsteady standing position. The world blurred for a moment before Snape balled his hands into fists and defiantly returned to his position next to Lucius. Nobody was snickering as the tall man's obeisant glare drilled holes into the other Death Eater's eyes and more than one newcomer dropped his gaze out of sheer intimidation. It was not everyday a man was able to walk away of his accord after four bouts with the Cruciatus curse.

The Dark Lord chuckled.

"Ever the dignified one," he purred, giving Snape a small nod; the only sign of acknowledgement any received from their master. "I knew I chose well with you Severus. The pure are always the strongest. You will serve the brotherhood well in the coming months."

"I look forward to it, master," Snape replied, his silky voice reduced to a low, hoarse tone.

The dark man turned away and returned to his habitual movement of slowly circling the ring of Death Eaters. The sound of his haunting, hissing tones slowly faded into the background of Snape's consciousness as he let out the breath he'd been holding. Closing his eyes behind the protection of his alabaster mask, he clenched his jaw as chills began working their way down his spine and he feverishly prayed his body would not betray him.

The crucio curse was known not only for its initial unspeakable pain, but also for the brutality of the aftershocks that would inevitably sweep through its victims for hours on end. The actual curse was the trigger – it caused the muscles to stretch to the point where it felt as though invisible, white hot knives were slowly trying to separate muscles from bone, tendon from tissue, as it scraped and ripped through the body. This unnatural manipulation of the body's muscular structure sent it into an almost shock-like state where the second symptom of the crucio curse appeared – the spasms.

To account for the vicious stretching of the muscles, the body tries to do the exact opposite – it contracts them, _painfully_, resulting in the involuntary spasming of sensitive muscles tissue. Some say that the spasms are almost worse than the actual curse – excruciating to the point of tears and yet, the pain would stop and start with hardly any warnings or signs. In some cases it was the simple act of waiting for the telltale Cruciatus spasms that drove its victims to madness.

The sudden outbreak of chills and cold sweat signaled the spasms were not too far from making their appearance causing Snape's stomach to plummet; the Dark Lord's curses was getting stronger, which meant he was slowly adapting to his new body. This was _not_ good.

_Only a few weeks ago, four bouts from the Cruciatus curse would have weakened me considerably_, _but certainly not to this point,_ Snape thought hurriedly, unease settling in his gut as purposely reinforced the shields protecting his thoughts_, Merlin, I can barely stand! How in the world am I going to Apparate back to Hogwarts in this condition; I'll be lucky if I don't splinch myself. _

Risking a look to his left, Snape was unsurprised to see Lucius leaning heavily on the arm of a younger Death Eater. _Draco?_ Snape narrowed his eyes at the pair but let nothing slip past his careful façade. He could tell even from a distance that the spasms had already hit Lucius causing him to nearly double over in pain and nausea; it was only because of the tight grip the younger man had around the hardened Death Eater that kept Lucius from staggering to the ground. Faintly, Snape wondered if the younger man supporting Lucius had placed a Silencio charm on Lucius to keep him from crying out loud from behind his mask.

_I wouldn't put it past him,_ Snape thought ruefully, turning back to face his prowling master and desperately hoping the madman's tirade would not last long into the night.

"As you all know," the Dark Lord was saying, "we have been searching for a permanent dwelling these last few weeks. Fleeing from one hiding place to the next like common rats is beneath us." Cold satisfaction flashed in the Dark Lord's crimson eyes as they settled on one of the hooded figures of the circle. "Fortunately," he purred, "one of our newest brethren has graciously offered the use of his family's ancestral home – the mighty Castle Thorn."

Snape's brow furrowed behind his mask; _Castle Thorn?_ Locking his gaze onto the new recruit, Snape could see the broad set of the man's shoulders beneath his thick robes. _Young,_ he concluded, _but not a boy. An easy air of confident, slightly hounded posture, and…he stands almost flat footed? _Wisps of dark hair had escaped the man's hood to flutter in the slight breeze and Snape could not shake the feeling that he'd met this mysterious newcomer before.

"Also," the Dark Lord continued, the line of his mouth curling into a chilling smile, "I've received word that Fenrir and his pack will be arriving within the week –" more than one pair of eyes flickered to the smoldering pile of ash on the outskirts of the circle that _was_ Nidenvow, "— I expect you all to remember that, while their blood will never we as pure as ours, it is our duty to accept those willing to follow us in our dreams of grandeur. If an impure one is willing to revoke their tainted blood, admit to their sins and inferiority, and prove their worth to their master, we welcome them to this circle."

Snape raised his eyebrow behind his mask as whispers broke out around the ranks. _He is willing to let those of lesser blood join?_ Snape wondered, shocked at his master's words. _This must be some kind of trick_, he thought, considering the direction of the war, _the halfbreeds were an exception – they aren't even considered fully human, plus no one is willing to argue against a werewolf over his blood purity. But halfbloods and muggleborns?_ Snape gazed with hooded eyes at the cloaked figure before him. _The war is getting to a point where people will join a side more out of fear than loyalty…he must be appealing to the public in order to gain support. _Snape scowled as he realized the plan did have merit; when faced with the option of death or enslavement it always surprised Snape how many people flocked to the path of least resistance.

_They will be slaves_, he thought dryly, _or whores. But that didn't stop them seventeen years ago…and it will not stop them now._ Scanning what little he could see of the Death Eater's expressions, Snape could see the shocked expressions receding and slowly being replaced with leering grins and lecherous exchanged looked. They understood all too well what roles the foolish halfbloods and muggleborns would play if they decided to appeal to the Dark Lord's sense of mercy.

Snape listened carefully to the Dark Lord's words, watching intently for any betrayal of future plans he may be plotting in his twisted mind but was suddenly shaken violently as the first of the Cruciatus spasms twisted through him. Breathing deliberately through his mouth, Snape loosened the hold of his broad shoulders and let the aftershock ripple through him, snaking down his chest and back, cutting through the sensitive muscles of his abdomen and inner thigh, before clenching briefly in the ball of his foot and then abruptly vanishing only to leave the drained tingling of his body as a reminder that the night was young.

A nearly inaudible groan of anguish slipped past his lips and the masked youth next to him turned at the soft sound. Grey eyes like stormy seas met dark eyes of ebony – _Draco._

"That will be all my faithful Death Eaters," the hissed tone of the Dark Lord suddenly interrupted, "remember that our final confrontation is drawing closer – _glory will be ours._ Do not fail me, my servants." With that, the ring of Apparation sounded through the silence with a distinct note of finality leaving the circle free to return to their beds.

"You are welcome to come back to the manor," a cool tone sounded from beside him and Snape turned to see Lucius standing, unsteadily but erect, next to his son.

"Indeed," Snape replied, his eyes flickering to Draco, "it seems we have much to catch up on."

With a nod of agreement from the other man, the three remaining figures disappeared, only the distinct sound of Disapparation signifying their leave.

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Snape leaned back, the full glass of aged whisky in his hand more of a safety blanket than anything else as he forced his body to relax into the expensive, soft leather of the Malfoy's settee. The great parlor fireplace was popping cheerfully not six feet from where he sat and still Snape couldn't shake the cold that seemed to settle in his bones; yet another lovely parting gift from the second unforgivable curse.

Snape listened as Lucius firmly dismissed his wife from the room, his cool voice stating that they had no energy for her 'frivolous womanly sensibilities' and that Draco was finally old enough to 'understand and appreciate the full responsibilities of his heritage'. Snape would have chuckled at the deathly look Narcissa shot at her husband had not another sudden spasm wracked his already battered body. From across the fire Draco shot him a quick concerned look to which Snape only responded with narrowed eyes. This was nothing new to Draco - he needn't look so naive.

The soft sound of a shutting door signaled Narcissa's departure and a moment later Lucius dropped heavily into the unoccupied high back chair with an agitated sigh.

"I'm going to kill that little mudblood when I find her for causing me such humiliation," Lucius growled, his voice low and dangerous though Snape could tell he was obviously in pain.

"I've told you time and time again to let the curse flow through you. The spasms are much less painful if your body doesn't react so violently to the initial curse," Snape responded, his voice neither superfluous nor chastising; only the comment of a longtime friend remarking on a much discussed topic. The elder Malfoy let a fond smirk break through his dark mood.

"Not everyone has the iron will power you command, my friend. I think you've forgotten how hard it is for us mere mortals to simply _ignore_ torture."

Snape only shrugged his shoulders dismissively as he took a much needed sip of the tawny colored whisky. The burning liquor felt like acid on his raw throat and yet the warm shouldering feeling that settled deep in his chest made Snape breath deeply in satisfaction. For all the Malfoy's bias and arrogance, Snape could never deny their taste in fine whisky.

"Forgive me for being rude," Lucius said suddenly, his hand curling in a white fist on the armrest as a spasm started up again, "but I believe I must take care of these maddening tremors in the only way _I_ know how."

Snape waved his hand noncommittally and watched with veiled fascination as Lucius's body began to shimmer and blur around the edges; no matter the circumstance, the transformation from human to animal always struck Snape as something to be honored and admired – Lucius's metamorphosis were no exception.

The change was fast, barely enough time for Snape to detect the switch from fleshy skin to harden armor, the sudden melting of dark clothed limbs into the nearly silvery hue of flashing reptilian scales, and the sudden appearance of small yet dagger-like spikes and long fangs.

_Beautiful yet deadly,_ Snape thought, catching the envious look Draco sent at his father's Animagus form, _how very fitting Lucius would have the revered Diamond Dragon as his inner animal. _

For as long as anyone could remember the Malfoy line has _always_ had dragons as their Animagus form, although, over the years, heirs had slowly found themselves chosen by the smaller, yet no less dangerous, of the species. The Diamond Dragon was a particular branch of the dragon family for Lucius's inner animal, with no legs it looked more snake than anything. Only the short, curves spikes that followed the line of its back and the distinctly formed structure of the snout gave away its dragon lineage. With his grey eyes and flashing silver scales, the ability to keep Lucius as an unregistered Animagus was a difficult challenge indeed. No one ever forgot him. Snape would have snorted at the impracticality of it all had not his own Animigus been such a blatantly flamboyant creature itself; completely and utterly useless in the line of a spy.

Draco raised a finely shaped eyebrow from across the fire. "I know you're secretive about your Animagus, Severus, but my father says the pain lessens if you are not in your human form. Why not morph?"

Snape let a dry snort of amusement leave his lips. "Indeed, Draco, and have you sharing with the entire Slytherin house what my _inner animal_ is? I think not."

A familiar smirk flinted across Draco's mouth; "Actually Severus, I came to discuss some properties of the Freezing Potion with you one day last year only to see you returning from a revel – and not as a human I might add." Lucius's eyes gleamed in unconcealed pride, though whether it was at the information Draco shared or the tone with which he delivered it, Snape couldn't be sure.

Snape was about to retort when his own accursed body suddenly filled with yet another bout of pain and the only sound that escaped his lips was the low sound of almost a growl as he grimaced.

"I prefer," he said, quickly shielding the pain from Lucius's all too observant gaze, "to transform in private – if at all."

Draco nodded, wisely dropping the subject.

"So," Snape continued, finally getting to the point of his visit, "when did you receive the Mark?"

Draco's gaze immediately dropped to his forearm. Even through his thick robes, Snape was sure Draco could picture the fresh mark branding his pale skin perfectly. Snape still could, even after all these years. It haunted his dreams.

"A week ago," he said softly and, catching the silent silvery gaze of his father, hastily continued, "the Dark Lord was most accommodating; many others had to go through months of training to prove their loyalty before receiving the mark but Father assured him I was ready. I was most honored."

Snape nodded but didn't comment.

The quick shimmering in the chair beside Snape signaled Lucius's return to his normal form and Snape watched silently as the older wizard stood stonily. Years of continuous physical training had served Lucius well, the most painful of the Cruciatus's effects had dissipated after only two hours of first contact; impressive indeed. Only the slight trembling in the fingers of his left hand betrayed his otherwise cool outward appearance. Taking the hint, Draco and Snape both rose and Snape gave Lucius a courteous bow of his head.

"I thank you for the drink and the fire, old friend," he said smoothly, grabbing his heavy cloak from the back of the settee, "I trust you will take it easy tonight?"

A small gleam appeared in Lucius eyes and he put a friendly hand on Snape shoulders as they exited the parlor. "You know the best cure for the Crutiatus curse lies not in the bottom of a bottle, Severus, but in the warm thighs of a woman." Lucius's heated gaze flicked once to the top of the stair before he grinned amiably back at Snape.

"Indeed," Snape replied, not a little envious that a man like Lucius had a warm, willing body to curl up to in moments of pain while he himself could only return to the deserted corridors of the dungeons where his only comforts were his solitude and drink.

"Also, I was thinking perhaps we could arrange some kind of private dueling lessons for Draco," Lucius stated, pausing at the entrance of the manor, "he's adequate at best as it is. I'd appreciate it if you could work with him a bit before that blasted school starts up again." He shot a cold look to his son who stood silently beside him.

"I'm sure we could work something out," Snape replied, slipping on his thick cloak even as each laborious move cause streaks of fire to race through his veins. "Oh, and Lucius, you wouldn't happen to have heard through Ministry grapevine anything concerning the new Defense Against the Dark Art teacher? Dumbledore continues to refuse my request for the position, but I heard he's finally found someone."

A scowl appeared on the blond wizard's face. "I have looked into it, but it seems the only thing anyone knows for certain is that he's a foreigner; Dumbledore and his bloody secrets."

Snape nodded and bid the Malfoy patriarch a curt goodbye before stepping out into the night. _A foreigner?_

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**_REVIEW!_**

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	8. Call & Return

**Hey guys, sorry for the wait (as usual) but you know, new semester – new classes – new everything. I took the SATs two days ago…that was exhausting; blame the delay on the SATs!! Thanks for all the awesome reviews! They really keep me going. Also, I know the story's been moving a little slow lately but YAY this is the last kind of 'introductory chapter'. Finally we get to concentrate on Hermione and Severus. I'm really excited. **

**That's all for now; hope you enjoy!**

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_**Chapter Eight-**_

Slowly, Snape made his way down the gently sloping passage, his muscles protesting with each step and cold sweat gently sliding down his back beneath his voluminous robes. His was dead tired and every couple steps his dark eyes would slip shut for a few precious seconds of much-needed rest as his breathing slackened. He made this torturous walk of return after every revel and the navigation of the short, winding path had quickly become second nature to his weary feet.

Upon reaching the end of the tunnel, Snape reached out, the dark wood of his wand tapping rhythmically on the dark grey slab of solid rock that stood before him. _Tap-Tap. Tap. Tap-Tap. _Immediately, a warm draft of magic seemed to float through the air and the rock swung effortlessly open as though it were built on hinges instead of merely imbedded into the side of the castle nearly fifty feet below the surface. Sweeping through, Snape entered the darkened room and felt a subdued sense of peace wash over him at the familiar interior.

It was chilly, like all dungeon rooms were, but with a flick of his wand the ready fireplace instantly ignited in dancing flames. The brightness of the light made Snape instinctually flinch; he'd forgotten how heightened his senses were after the Cruciatus but the comforting warmth of the fire was more than worth it.

His hands seemed to move of their own accord, following the same routine they had for months – his mask was jerked out of his pocket and thrown carelessly into one of the high back chairs, shortly followed by his heavy outer cloak, his sweeping Victorian style teaching robes and then finally by his signature black vest that completed his dark attire. Undoing the top three buttons of his wrinkled white dress shirt, Snape collapsed into the worn material of his divan, his eyes slipping shut and his body slowly unraveled.

_I don't know how much more of this I can stand,_ he thought hazily, taking inventory of every twitch, ache, and burn of his gradually recovering body as his eyes slipped shut.

Severus Snape was a man of few pleasures; the soft tenor of violins in the solitude of his own room, the crackle of a warm fire to keep him company as he licked his wounds in private, the soothing burn of a decent whisky; and yet for all his simplicity, it would never be said the man was anything but enigmatic. His very manner was a hostile façade that dared people to even _try_ and look past the cruel words and icy glares, the dripping sarcasm and imposing appearance. Much to his satisfaction, few did.

But now, as the sun crept over the horizon and he lay limp with fatigue, it was not without regret that he saw just how effective his deception was. He lived a life of seclusion…not a bad life, simply lonely, but it ate at the hardened spy to think about how he could never be sure if the one person in this world who waited up for him after every revel was awaiting _him_ or the information he brought. It would be nice…just once, to have someone care whether _he_ returned each night.

Snape's thoughts were in turmoil, but he had no energy to sort them out, and so he willing allowed the quiet lull of the empty room to quell his battered psych, slowly enticing him towards sweet oblivion; _my apologies Albus, the report will have to wait till morning. _Without another conscious thought, Snape slipped unnoticed into the blissful depths of deep sleep as the warm blanket of unawareness surrounded him.

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**POTTER PARTY FIASCO: **

**_Last Thursday, July 31_****_st_****_, Death Eaters broke through the highly monitored wards of the Harry Potter Coming-of-Age celebration and reeked havoc on both close allies and friends of The-Boy-Who-Lived. Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge states the entire catastrophe could have been avoided had Headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore, cooperated with the Ministry. _**

**"_It is no secret Dumbledore and the Ministry have had different views on how to handle recent problems that plague the wizarding world," Fudge tells the Prophet, "I have tried to work with him in the past but after his uncooperative attitude with issues like the pursuit of Sirus Black, the Dementor protection plan, and then our most recent reformation of the Hogwart's teaching policy, I feel as though I am fighting a losing battle. This newest tragedy is just another example of a wizard too stuck in the past to heed the advice of his government." _**

**_Ministry Auror, _**_**Gerald Taligan, Ward Castor of the Potter Party claims that someone spiked his glass of lemonade causing him to pass out and the wards to fall. **_

"_**I wanted to put everyone on the guest list through a strict, Ministry monitored Veritaserum questioning," Fudge states, "To make sure no hooligans were admitted that could potentially cause harm to anyone at the party. Dumbledore refused my request and, because of this, some miscreants managed to spike the lemonade and my Auror was incapacitated by no fault of his own causing the wards to fall – I see no question with whom the blame lays."**_

_**The man in question, Albus Dumbledore, had no comment for the Prophet. **_

_**Luckily, only two major injuries were sustained in the raid – a Mister Remus Lupin and Miss Hermione Granger – both close friends of Harry Potter and whom are reported to recover with no lasting repercussions. It is, in the reporter's opinion, yet another lucky break for Albus Dumbledore's streak of blatant recklessness and near-anarchist behavior. I can only hope he steps down and allows the Ministry to do their job unhindered before any further damage can ensue. **_

Minerva McGonagall sputtered her morning tea down her chin as she jerked her head up from the morning post, _"__This is preposterous_!"

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"Are you sure you're alright, Herm?" Ron asked, eyeing his longtime friend as she gathered her various belonging up from around the recovery room, "you can always stay a couple more days…"

Hermione let out a snort of exasperated laughter as Ron asked the same question for the fourth time but abruptly was cut off as sharp stabs of pain swept down her side – the line of exactly thirty-seven Muggle stitches that ran down her left side were still tender when she made any kind of sharp movement. Hiding the wince from her friend's concerned eyes, she quickly picked up the remaining research books she'd been using and added it to her growing pile.

"I think the ten days I've already been here have been more than enough. Really Ron, I'm fine," she insisted, scanning the room for anything she'd missed, "and besides, I really want to go cross-reference some theories I have with those Dark Arts books we found in the Black library. I think I may have found something."

Ron's eyes lit up at the news and he cast a conspiring look around the ward before leaning in to whisper to Hermione, "About the horcruxes? You think you figured out one of them?"

Hermione nodded.

"Hey, Hermione!" a familiar voice called from the doorway and Hermione turned to see Harry, his hood pulled up in an effort to remain anonymous, waving her and Ron over. "Tonks says we need to hurry up, Moody's getting antsy about staying in one place too long and we promised Mrs. Weasley we'd be back by five."

Ron watched Hermione turn to face Harry and he couldn't help but let his eyes roam down the long line of her body. _You know, curly hair is kind of sexy, _he thought, observing the loose curls of her long hair as they shined oh-so-slightly in the light. Traveling down, Ron see the gently curving body that had filled out her dressrobes so nicely and he shifted slightly on his feet as he traced the sweet line of her backside through her jeans, _Merlin, I love Muggle clothing. _

It was true he hadn't really thought of her as a female till her fourth year and even afterwards she'd always been kind of this…'backup plan', but seeing how the other guys at the party had acted around her…well, it was safe to say he wasn't the only guy who thought of her above 'troll status'. _I wonder what the guys would think if I started dating Hermione…_Ron mused and nearly grinned at the thought of all the jealous looks he'd get, _I'd be a bloody hero. _Of course, Ron amended; he'd probably have to get Ginny to convince Hermione to dress a little more _fun._ Honestly, who actually wore their uniform up to the school's regulation dress code? No, a couple inches off the hem of that bloody masculine skirt, a couple loosened buttons, and maybe she could show a little more of that enticing skin he'd practically drooled over at the party. Merlin, this was going to be a good year.

"Alright, we'll be down in a second," Hermione replied, breaking Ron out of his private reverie as she turned and quickly gathered up half the pile of books while Harry once again disappeared out the door. Shaking his head desperately, Ron focused back in on the situation and gathered up the rest of the heavy legers.

"Merlin, Herm," Ron said, shifting the significant weight in him arms, "how did you get so many books in here?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "Well," she replied, "you brought me _Charms of the Druids_ and _The Tale of the Founders_, Harry brought me _Forgotten Arts, A Complete History of Ravenclaw,_ and _A Hufflepuff Story_, I asked Remus to fetch my _Hogwarts: A History_, and then there was Tonks—"

"Allright, allright," Ron replied, rolling his eyes, "I should have known better than to think a simple flesh wound would keep you from your books."

Hermione simply shrugged. "So, how has Harry been?" she asked quietly as they made they way down the hall, "I heard he tried to attack Snape back at headquarters."

Ron's expression darkened. "The greasy git was asking for it, acting like Remus and you getting injured wasn't even _remotely_ his fault. Something about how Voldemort's been giving out separate assignments in private to Death Eaters, or some bollocks like that, and acting all condescending to Harry."

Hermione's brow furrowed; if Voldemort had indeed started keeping information from his inner circle it could mean huge consequences for the Order.

"And Harry _attacked_ him?" Hermione prodded, still disbelieving that her friend would do something so foolish. Everything about the Potions Master spoke of reined strength and hardened experience – hardly the type of person to be brought down by a seventeen year old boy.

Ron shrugged. "It didn't matter though; slippery bastard froze Harry before anything interesting could happen."

"Don't curse," Hermione admonished absentmindedly, "Did anyone speak to Harry about this? I mean honestly, he can't go around attacking fellow Order members, much less ones who are also our _professors_!" Hermione considered telling Ron about how Snape had kept her safe under the concealing charm of his cloak…and yet the moment, even in the heat of battle, had seemed oddly personal and Hermione found herself staying silent as she avoided her friend's gaze. _Knowing him he'd probably turn the gesture into something underhanded and perverted_, she thought, _no, that's one piece of information I'll keep to myself. _

A small frown appeared on Ron face. "He was angry about you being hurt, Herm," he said, his tone only the slightest bit resentful, "everyone was. You could at least act like you appreciate it."

Hermione felt a prick of shame go through her at Ron's words, _of course I know Harry cares about me…Ron too, but they can't go gallivanting around picking fights with our own side._

"I'm sorry," Hermione said softly, "I do appreciate that you both worried…I just don't think doing think doing rash things like attacking our professors are helping the situation."

Ron sighed but sent her a little smile. "Fine, you win. I'll make sure Harry doesn't attack the git again." A visible shiver swept through him, "I'm not even sure I'd ever _want_ to see Snape really duel anyone. You should have seen him; all cold and eerie, like a statue really, and then the next second he has his wand out and his voice takes on that really low, hissing tone." He shivered again. "_Creepy_."

Hermione silently nodded; she knew that tone, though she'd only had the pleasure of hearing it once or twice, it was the kind of voice that made grown men freeze and hardened Aurors quiver in their robes.

"_Anyway_," Ron continued, his voice taking on lighter tone as they entered an elevator, "you know how Moody's like….the greatest Auror _ever?_"

Hermione shot him an inquisitive look. It didn't take much to see both of her best friends practically worshiped the ground the paranoid Auror walked on but personally, Hermione just could never have much faith in a man who was locked _in his own trunk_ for the better part of eight months.

"Yes…" Hermione replied hesitantly wondering what could possibly cause such an exuberant expression to grace the face of her friend.

"Well, Moody's going to be me and Harry's mentor for our Order training," Ron said excitedly, "Dumbledore told us yesterday, _plus_ if we're able to master A—…um, the _thing_ he's training us, then we're going to be allowed to go with Remus on his mission."

"What's Remus's mission?" Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued, _any how in the world are you two going to be going on __**missions**__ during the school year?_

"Well…erm—"

"Please tell me you're not dropping out of school," Hermione said suddenly, her eyes widening as she came to a halt in the middle of the corridor.

"No, no! Nothing like that, please Hermione, I…just forget I mentioned anything allright?" Ron said, obviously uncomfortable, "Dumbledore made us swear an oath when we had our initiation that we wouldn't tell _anyone_ about the stuff that goes on in the Order and I think I've already told you more than I'm supposed to."

He felt the uncomfortable sense of guilt settle in his gut as he watched his best friend's face fall a little. "Hermione…"

"No, it's okay," she said, giving him a brave little smile as she shook her head, "I understand, security and all; don't worry, only two months till my birthday and then I'll be eligible to be an Order member too." Turning, she continued down the hall, forcing herself to keep a smile on her face even as her heart sunk in her chest. _Whatever Harry and Ron are learning must be really advance_, she thought, envy burning unpleasantly at the thought of being left out, _why else would the Headmaster bring in someone as experienced as Professor Moody? Ah! Why couldn't I have been born a couple months earlier?!_

"So…" Ron continued, obviously searching desperately for a change of topic, "When are you and Harry doing that Cengle—something charm?"

"_Cengalarious_," Hermione corrected, "Actually, Professor Dumbledore visited me a couple days ago when Professor Lupin was released; he said that as soon as I'm well enough we can all go to Hogwarts to have the charm performed. Apparently he has some kind of expert there to supervise…I can't remember his name but he was definitely foreign, maybe Romanian?"

"Wait, wait," Ron interrupted, sending her a quizzical look, "_All _of us? Don't you just mean you and Harry?"

Hermione shook her head, a genuine smile breaking out on her face. "Didn't Dumbledore tell you?" she asked excitedly.

Ron sent her a scowl, "Obviously _not._"

"Well," she began primly, "It seemed like a waste of time for Harry and I to travel all the way to Hogwarts, stay there long enough to have the charm performed and made sure it's working properly, and then travel all the way back to the Grimmauld Place when we only have two weeks till school starts anyway. Dumbledore said we were all welcome to stay the remainder of the summer at Hogwarts, _all_ including you!"

"What?!" Ron hiss, obviously distraught, "We're leaving for Hogwarts early?! I haven't even shopped for my books or gotten new dressrobes, Merlin we're supposed to be having _another _of those bloody balls this year! I definitely need new robes, plus my old Quidditch gloves have holes in them and Pig chewed through his carrier and I need to polish my wand and…"

Hermione smiled to herself as she watched her exasperated friend rant on, oblivious to the fact that she had ceased to listen. He was funny, animated, reckless, and goofy; roguish yet sweet in his own way and Hermione felt the little flare of attraction she had always harbored in her heart spring to life yet again. _He doesn't think of you that way, _her mind hissed to her, _and deep down you know you don't either!_ Hermione shook her head regretfully; she would always be a little attracted to Ron – first crushes tend to be that way, but she knew that's all it was, _an old crush; _nothing more.

"Why didn't anyone bother to tell me this_?!"_ Ron asked her desperately as they came to a stop in front of their small group of Order members, "Didn't anyone think the fact that we were leaving for school two whole weeks early was important?!"

Harry sent him a confused look as they came to a stop. "Ron, mate…we did tell you."

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Hermione felt a comforting warmth wash over her she entered the familiar stone archway that graced the entrance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, her luggage floating ghostly along behind her as she walked the deserted halls. She remembered the first time she had walked through those doors – her robes a little too long because she hadn't known her wizarding measurements, her hair an uncontrollable mass of bouncing curls from the dry September heat, her heart beating like a scared rabbit's as she prayed there wasn't some kind of a mistake and that they were going to send her home.

_I'm sorry Miss Granger, there seems to be some kind of error here – we're actually looking for a different Hermione. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience; we'll just Obliviate you and send you home now…_ Hermione couldn't remember how many times that particularly nightmare had plagued her over the years; always the same fear not being worthy enough, not strong enough, not smart enough – not being _magical_ enough.

Her hand curled around the wand that lay concealed in the pocket of her robes – _my wand_, she thought, firmly storing the old fears back in the recesses of her mind where they belonged. _I have worked hard; I deserve to be a part of this world just a much as the next person and nobody can tell me otherwise._ She found herself repeating the familiar mantra more and more often now that the war had reached its pinnacle point but it was hard watching as men died – as men _killed ­– _fighting to expel what they considered the _tainted_ blood of the magical lines. Was she such an anomaly of nature that people would rather go to war than see those of less _pure_ blood accepted into polite society? All answers pointed to yes and some part of her burned at the knowledge of it.

She didn't expect the world to be a perfect place, no – that would undermine anything she'd ever learned over the years, but somehow, she had always expected it to be at least _fair_ in its cruelty.

_Lessons learned the hard way_, she thought, continuing down the hallway towards the Gryffindor tower as her hand unconsciously drifted to her left side. _Eight inches higher and he would have hit your heart, Hermione_, a voice reminded her and she shivered; nothing like coming face to face with your own mortality to make you appreciate the simpler things in life.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at her revelation; the simpler things indeed. She hadn't notice just how isolated she'd become that summer – researching for possible horcruxe artifacts, checking and rechecking possibility after possibility, virtually living at the small table towards the back of Black library with heaps of aged tomes and written accounts stacked perilously around her; but now, now it seemed both Harry and Ron had made a special effort to drag her out of her self-imposed prison to play an occasional quick game of Exploding-Snap or lure her into a vicious game of Wizarding Chess.

_Ron especially, _she mused, thinking of how her tall redheaded friend seemed to take her brush with the Death Eaters particularly hard; he hardly left her alone these days. She'd been flattered, she still was in fact, that her friends had worried about her but as the week had worn on she couldn't help the nagging feeling that maybe Ron's sudden affliction wasn't as much _friendly_ as it was…something else.

_You're imagining things_, the stubborn part of her brain argued but Hermione couldn't deny things had been…different since she'd returned from St. Mungo's. The not-so-subtle brushes of Ron's hands over the small of her back or shoulders, the sudden increase in interest of her state of dress, the absolutely random compliments he seemed to throw out in the middle of a conversation and the almost…_possessive_, attitude he sometimes exuded when she was around other people; it was simply _un-Ronlike. _

_Maybe it's just fear…_ she reasoned, thinking of how, after losing Sirus, Harry been very protective of both Ron and her almost to the point of smothering them, _perhaps Ron's just going through what Harry did – that fear of losing the people closest to you. It makes sense, kind of…but then why isn't he acting that way around Harry? Is it because I'm a girl?_ Hermione snorted as she entered a staircase, since when had her femininity _ever_ affected the way Ron acted around her?_ I might as well be a Mandrake Root as far as Ron's concerned – asexual and loud. _

Shaking her head as she approached the common room door, Hermione decided to just ignore Ron's strange behavior; _maybe once classes start he'll snap back to normal._ She could only be hopeful.

Quickly repeating the password that Professor McGonagall had given her, Hermione watched at the portrait obediently swung inwards before she clambered in. A quick glance to her watch told her that she'd have to hurry and grab Harry before meeting the Headmaster and Professor Snape to cast the Cengalarious charm; Dumbledore wanted to start Harry's training as soon as possible and they needed to be sure the charm was working properly before they started anything.

Hermione desperately hoped everything went as planned; so much was hinging on this single ritual. When Dumbledore had first spoken to her about the charm it hadn't been hard to pick on the urgency in the elderly wizard's voice – apparently this was the only charm they'd yet to find that wasn't permanent or didn't require some kind of dark human sacrifice.

_Please work, _Hermione prayed, _Harry __**needs**__ to be able to block his mind and this is the only way we can assure his safety while he trains. This __**has**__ to work._

Quickly depositing her things by the entrance, Professor McGonagall would be showing her the Head Girl's room later, Hermione scanned the littering of students that occupied the various chairs and table. _I didn't think there'd be so many_, she mused vaguely; Dumbledore had explained that some of the students were remaining at Hogwarts over summer for safety reasons but she'd never imagined so many…

"Oi, Hermione! Over here!" a voice called, and Hermione turned to spy Ron waving her over to where he, Harry, Neville, Dean, and two fifth years Hermione didn't know, were all caught in what looked to be a six-way tournament of Exploding Snap.

"Hello, I'm Hermione," she said by greeting to the two fifth years and watched confused as they turned red and muttered a quick 'hi' without meeting her eyes. Scanning the group, Hermione noticed that neither Neville nor Harry seemed able to meet her gaze while in contrast Ron and Dean appeared almost ecstatic at her arrival. _What in Merlin's beard was going on?_

"Hey Hermione," Dean said, throwing her a smile, "Want to join us?" He scooted over and patted the ground next to him, "Here, you can sit next to me. I promise I don't bite."

A little heat rose up Hermione's neck at the expectant way Dean looked at her but she managed to politely decline saying if she and Harry didn't leave now they'd be late to the meeting with the Headmaster. Nobody noticed the way Ron silently gloated in the background.

"Oh," Dean said, looking a little crestfallen but quickly shaking it off, "well, since you're here now maybe you could help me with my summer charms essay later. I'm really not getting the whole elemental transfiguration thing. You like books and stuff; you and I could go work on it together in the library or something."

Hermione blinked; _was there even a question in that sentence?_ "Maybe," she managed to say, "I still have to get my Head Girl duties from Professor McGonagall, plus I need to check the library for this book on the _Halave Infeu_ I've been wanting to…" She noticed the familiar way Dean's eyes glazed over and quickly stopped talking; _genius Hermione, the second a guy takes some semblance of interest in you – you go blabbering on about books. _"Later," Hermione promised; her heart really not in it even when Dean sent her one of his signature charming smiles of gratitude.

"What?!" Ron suddenly said, gapping at Hermione, "You can't help him! You promised you'd help me with _my_ potions essay!"

Hermione sent him a confused look; "Yes…I did say that…so why can't I help Dean when I'm done with you, Ron?

She watched as the telltale red crept up his neck and he turned away muttering to himself about 'ruddy essays'. Hermione turned to Harry – her eyes _begging_ him for some kind of clue as to what was going on, but he only shook his head as he stood and brushed off his pants.

"Guy stuff," he muttered, and Hermione inwardly fumed; _guy stuff_?! "C'mon, Hermione," he said, starting to walk towards the portrait door, "We don't want to be late for our meeting."

Irritated and perplexed, Hermione sent a quick look to the remaining boys – Ron was glowering at Dean, Dean looked smug, the two fifth years were still watching her with slightly flushed faces but had started eyeing her with something like…_interest?_ And in the middle of all this Neville sat; his eyes turned resolutely downwards and his face permanently colored beet-red. Shaking her head, Hermione stood and quickly bid everyone goodbye before disappearing through the portrait door. She had better things to do than wonder how the mind of teenage boys worked.

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"You're right," one of the fifth years said to Ron as soon as Hermione left the common room, "she does have a nice arse."

"That's it!" Neville stated, standing up with an embarrassed looking expression, "I'm sorry guys but I really just can't sit around and talk about Hermione like she's a piece of meat to be fought over." He eyed Ron and Dean, "What ever you two decide to do, just remember – she did punch Malfoy in the third year." Satisfied as he watched realization cross his two friend's faces, Neville turned and walked away.

As soon as the boy disappeared from sight, Ron and Dean faced each other as if sizing one another up; finally Ron spoke, "She was my friend first. I think I have a right to date her first—"

Dean shook his head, "Oh no, don't play that card; if she's been your friend for such a long time, why the _sudden_ interest?"

Ron flushed and looked away, muttering something into the fire about 'not noticing' and 'damn blue dress'.

"Plus," Dean continued, smirking, "I don't think she thinks of you _that _way."

Ron's eyes narrowed, "Oh yeah? And what makes you think she feels that way about _you?_"

Dean gloated, "Easy. She blushed when I talked to her, plus she offered to help me with my essays—"

"She blushes all the time! And she's just being nice!"

"We agree that if both of us try to pursue her at the same time we'll just end up getting in each other's ways," Dean said, his eyes taking on the same narrowed, determined look as Ron's, "but the fact of it is – _I'm not stepping down_."

"Well _neither am I_,"Ron responded tersely; neither of the boys noticing the two fifth years had long since retreated to a safe distance.

"Well then, it seems we're at a stalemate," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest.

An uncharacteristic smirk crossed Ron's face as he stood. "Some people would say so," he stated, looking fondly towards the portrait door, "but I feel I should let you know. I've never lost a game to a stalemate." With that parting word, the redhead turned and headed out of the common room; his stride every bit that of a cocky suitor.

Dean smiled, "I think I should let _you_ know, Ron, this isn't chess…" Dean stood and began walking towards the boy's dormitory. What had started out as hormone-induced lust has soon transformed into an all out competition for affection and there was nothing Dean liked more than winning…especially with such a desirable prize.

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_**REVIEW!**_

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**I'm SO excited; that was the last 'setting the scene' chapter. Now I get to introduce 'the twist' …it's only taken what?- 30,000 words? FINALLY, we get some Sev/Herm interaction. Warning – it's just a taste…but it has huge consequences. **

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	9. León & Mark

**Yes, yes, I apologize for the delay but hopefully this ridiculously long (for me) chapter will heal your wounded faith. I'll admit, I was a little disappointed by the review turn out for the last chapter but at the same time I understand – it was a bit of a filler chapter wasn't it? **

**In other news, I got a blister from going a hike with my gorgeous neighbor, soccer tryouts start next week, and ****I got a new beta!**** First I'd like to thank my old beta, **Nienna Simarwen**, for being wonderful and fun and super encouraging these last long months and good luck with everything! My new beta is TendrilOfThought and I'm really excited about working with her. **_**Yes, I know you probably don't care but **__**you ARE reading MY author notes**_** – clap and nod your head like good readers. So, I guess welcome and thanks TendrilOfThought! **

**I'm as impatient as ever, so here's the chapter early unbetaed: I'll update later:**

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_**Chapter Nine- **_

Severus Snape cast a dry look around the Headmaster's office; it radiated a certain warmth and cheerfulness that came from no single source and the all-round _brightness _of the atmosphere made Snape on edge. It was a front, he knew, for the real activities that took place within these walls; the plotting, the plans, the secrets and scandals. No one would ever look beneath the fluffy surface to find the hardened steel and it always surprised Snape how very much the room reflected its owner.

Crossing his arms in a familiar stance of impatience, Snape cast a pointed look at the Headmaster only to see his aged mentor in deep conversation with the foreigner Lucius had spoken of.

_Professor_ León d'Georgesses of France, he reminded himself, a sneer of distaste flashing rapidly across his features before his façade of indifference once again gained control. Something about the newcomer did not sit well with Snape…something about him was off and it irked the Potions Master to no end that he couldn't quite pinpoint the irregularity.

D'Georgesses was taller than most – though, Snape noted with a smirk, still a couple inches short of his own imposing height – and seemed to come off as more…_willowy_, than lean or wiry. Thinking back, Snape recalled how, when they had shaken hands, the almost dainty texture of the man's hand had felt at odds against Snape's own calloused palm. And, curiously enough, even though Snape had come directly from the dungeons, d'Georgesses' hand had been colder.

Casting a discreet glance in the stranger's direction, Snape's observant eyes took in every aspect of new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher with the precision and intensity of someone who knew how to _look_ without being _seen. _

D'Georgesses held himself tall but with the rather lofty, relaxed posture of a man without burden or worry and every so often he would let loose a rich roll of laughter. Snape suspected it was more for the Headmaster's benefit than anything else considering that the strange golden tint of d'Geogesses' eyes never once betrayed warmth nor merriment – only an eerie emptiness beneath tapered beauty.

Snape's scowl deepened; the Dumbledore had adamantly refused to share any information concerning the mysterious visitor before d'Georgesses' arrival, and that had been _days_ ago.

"We shall discus things after the charm had been performed," Dumbledore had said, neatly sidestepping the confrontation, "Patience, my boy."

_Dumbledore and his damnable secrets_, Snape thought bitterly, hating every moment he was kept in the dark. As a spy, his life constantly depended on being one step ahead of the game, one move faster, one thought quicker, and he simply couldn't be caught unaware by anyone, including Dumbledore. _Calm down,_ he told himself, _Dumbledore gave his word that he would explain all after the meeting today. If only Potter would hurry up and get this over with!_

Turning resolutely away, Snape unconsciously rolled his shoulders in an attempt to stretch the aching tendons of his upper back. Everyone reacted differently to the Cruciatus curse; some had tremors for days afterwards, some lost their appetite, some felt shaky and weak as a newborn colt. Snape was cursed with the prolonged aching pain that seeped deep within the muscles of his shoulder, upper back, and neck creating the occasional tension headache that wrecked havoc on him for hours on end. Merlin, how he despised those days!

A sudden knock at the door had conversation coming to an abrupt stop - Mister Potter and Miss Granger had arrived.

Schooling his face into his regular mask of subtle irritation and displeasure, Snape inwardly braced himself for his reunion with Miss Granger. He had not forgotten her these last couple weeks, nor had it ever been far from his mind that, to the day, she had no idea her parents lay cold in their graves.

_Or what would have been their graves if there had been any bodies,_ a rebellious voice sounded in his mind and Snape nearly grimaced at the reality. The magically induced fire had incinerated everything it touched, leaving only smoldering ruin and the resinous smell of ash and smoke in the air; there had been nothing left of the Granger house just had there had been no sign of her unknowingly kidnapped father and her unconscious mother who had lay a heap in a closet and left to die. As it were, only Dumbledore, Snape, Moody, and McGonagall knew the truth of her situation and it unsettled Snape to realize Dumbledore had no intention of informing the girl any time soon.

_Forget it, _his mind hissed, the cold indifference of his façade battling with something much deeper with Snape, _Dumbledore is acting on what he thinks is best for everyone at the moment; it would be no good to anyone should Miss Granger be burdened with such knowledge. Yesterday, today, tomorrow – the pain will be the same once Dumbledore tells her of her parent's deaths. At least if she is told later we might be able to find a way to soften the blow…or at least wait until she is not in such a pivotal role in Potter's training. You know how important this charm is to the old man; he would not jeopardize his only plan for anything! He will not tell her till he thinks the time is right; and besides, it is not as if it's your problem anyway… _

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Snape slowly let it out; the guilt and disquiet easing slightly with the action and his resolve firmer after his internal battle. It was simply not his concern. Crossing his arms into his familiar stance of nonchalance, Snape watched as Dumbledore cheerfully called out an invitation to enter and, a moment later, Potter emerged with Miss Granger trailing closely behind.

He firmly told himself not to pay her any mind and, for a while, it worked; yet as the two students exchanged pleasantries and such nonsense with the Headmaster, Snape found his gaze seemed to drift to her of its own accord more often than not. Sighing, he gave in, his gaze resting subtly on the young woman who seemed to have captivated his interest for no tangible reason.

_She looks a little pale_, he observed, his attention gliding uninterested over the Potter boy to focus in on the witch who stood a step behind him with quiet dignity. He faintly recalled hearing Dumbledore say she's been released from the Recovery Ward at St. Mungos a few days ago and his hand flexed uneasily into a fist. He remembered all too well the particularly nasty dark hex Lucius had thrown at her - his aim had been off due to her jinx hitting him first but the results had been serious nonetheless.

The _Valsien_ hex was one of Lucius's particular favorites – a cross between a magic repellant charm and a slashing hex. Deadly if aimed correctly and very difficult to heal. Snape wondered if she'd needed those dreadful Muggle contraptions…_stitches wasn't it?_ An invisible shudder ran through him; they did not sound even remotely pleasant.

Turning his thoughts to other things, Snape was unconsciously relieved to see Miss Granger back in her student robes. Even though it was still summer, Dumbledore insisted that Hogwarts outer robes be worn over casual wear and Snape for one, was more than willing to let the memory of the icy blue clad witch disappear beneath the dark material. It was so much easier to see her as 'just a student' or 'just another dunderhead I have to teach' and remain cold and detached than to look beyond outer appearances and see the unknowing victim and manipulated pawn that lay beneath. It was just simpler that way and Snape was a man who needed no complications.

Shaking his head inwardly, Snape forced the troubling thoughts surrounding the young witch out of his mind and instead focused back in on the conversation taking place.

"—cannot tell you how pleased I am, Miss Granger that you've decided to participate in the ritual. You were most needed and I cannot expressed how relived I am to finally have this out of the way."

Snape nearly rolled his eyes as the young witch blushed prettily; _of course she said yes, you manipulative old man. How else could she have possibly responded with you coating your every word in honey?_

Sighing uselessly, he hung back in the shadows of the room desperately hoping they would get this over with soon…he was getting a headache.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Hermione said, her eyes flickering to her friend, "I know how important Harry's lessons are to the Order, I'm glad I can help in any way."

Dumbledore smiled cheerfully, his eyes twinkling madly behind his crescent-moon spectacles. Turning slightly to the left, he gestured to the silent figure that stood near the window. "I'd also like to introduce your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor d'Georgesses. He's somewhat of an expert in ancient arts and has graciously agreed to supervise the ritual with us today."

Hermione watched curiously as the man stepped forward. He was very lithe in statute with short, wavy brown framing a rather androgynous face. If he had been a female, Hermione would have easily called him beautiful with his charming white smile and enticing tawny eyes. A purely feminine blush worked its way up her neck as he turned his piercing gaze to her and she quickly looked away with a polite, 'It's a pleasure to meet you'.

Coming to a stop in front of them, the man gave a polite nod of acknowledgement to Harry before reaching out to grasp Hermione's limp hand and press a soft kiss to the ridge of her knuckle, "The pleasure, I assure you, is all mine."

Hermione could only stand shock still as she felt the cool brush of his lips against her knuckle and then the sharp graze of his teeth as they grazed lightly over her hand in a move that was anything but chaste. At the gesture, Harry's jaw practically dropped and he quickly averted his gaze to his feet as Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, unseen to all in the room.

A sudden movement from the shadowed corner of the room suddenly caught Hermione's attention and she quickly snatched her hand back form the man's grasp as Professor Snape made his presence known. All whirling capes and dark, foreboding eyes, the Potions Master's gaze swept once over her flustered face as his scowl deepened. "Perhaps we can get on with the frivolities, I have things to get done today," he drawled, his expression one of distaste as he looked at the newest addition to the Hogwarts staff.

"Of course, Severus," d'Georgesses said lightly, taking a casual step back from the Hermione, "If you're ready, I have everything prepared."

"Wonderful," Dumbledore chimed in, hiding his distress at the gesture with the skill of an expert and seamlessly reverting back to the cheerful host, "If you're all ready then…?"

Everyone nodded.

"Very well," Professor d'Georgesses said, completely unfazed by the unease he had caused, "If you will all stand around the Headmaster's desk, we can begin."

Wordless everyone moved to stand around the table and Hermione could see various objects placed strategically in the shape of a pentagon. A bowl of water, a red candle, a sprig of ivy, a raven's feather, and some kind of dark ore sat at each point with a simple ink well in the center and her brow furrowed in curiosity.

"I will supervise from here," d'Georgesses said, stepping back a couple feet, "just remember what I told you, Headmaster, and everything should work as played."

"Thank you, León," Dumbledore replied, giving a nod of acknowledgement before turning back to the desk, "Alright, now, this ritual is very old and the instructions are very specific about who it will work on and how it needs to be preformed so listen carefully. Once the candle is lit no one must speak, I will need to prick each of your fingers—"

Hermione felt a start of surprise at that; the only rituals that required the blood of their casters were usually very powerful and very dark. She cast a worried look first at Dumbledore, but the man betrayed no sign that anything was out of the ordinary as he continued in his directions. Nibbling on her bottom lip in a habit of nervousness, Hermione raised her gaze to the imposing figure of Professor Snape who stood solemnly next to Dumbledore but he, too, looked neither surprised nor worried.

Gazing at him from beneath her lashes, Hermione was hit with a realization that she not only going to be bound to her best friend…but to a man who appeared to both despise and spurn her. It was true she respected him a great deal on a professional level; his teaching practice, though sometime brutal, was effective and the reasoning itself was brilliant but she could never claim to have enjoyed his company in the rare instances they shared a meal or tea at the Grimmauld Place.

Listening to Dumbledore with one ear, Hermione thought about what she knew of Professor Snape. He was of an old pure blood line, that much was obvious from the way he spoke about pureblood society and his overall demeanor in general, he taught potions though Hermione suspected he enjoyed it more than he let on, and he was a moody and reserved man yet austere and commanding. He spied and was a huge benefit to the Order for his recovered information; though _how_ exactly he extracted such details Hermione didn't know.

To be honest with herself, ever since forth year when he had sent her crying from the dungeon, Hermione had never seen any reason to put forth the effort to get to know him as she did with the rest of the teachers – he didn't welcome what he considered 'prying into his personal life' and Hermione was all too happy to oblige to his wishes. But now, with the realization they would technically be bonded for at least a couple months, Hermione wished she new a little more of the man behind the teacher.

"This isn't some cheap Divination trick, Miss Granger, you would do well at least _appear_ to be paying attention," a sardonic voice said from her right and Hermione blinked to see Snape had moved into his position next to her.

"I was, _Sir_," she responded, instantly taking back her wish as an indignant flush rose up her neck.

Snape looked down at her from his impressive height with a cocked eyebrow and Hermione took an unconscious step back trying to move to a position when she wouldn't have to tilt her head to look at him.

"Ah, Mss Granger, please stay in your position," Dumbledore said, guiding her closer to the dark man beside her, "And remember, after I light the candle there can be no noise but the sound of my voice."

Hermione nodded, "I understand, Headmaster."

Turning to her left, Hermione flashed an encouraging smile to Harry, "I hope this works, Harry."

"Me too," he answered and then nodded to Dumbledore that they were ready to begin.

Lighting the candle with a flick of his wand, Dumbledore quietly recited something that sounded like a cross between Latin and Gaelic as he picked up the raven feather. Hermione hadn't looked closely enough before but now she saw that the end was sharpened to a razor point.

Still murmuring, Dumbledore gesture for Snape's hand and wordlessly pricked the pad of his index finger; the Potions Master did not even flinch. Hermione shifted uncomfortably on her feet as the bead of crimson blood pooled in the center of one long, pale finger and noticed that Harry too was watching with some kind of morbid satisfaction as Dumbledore calmly squeezed the droplet on to an ivy leaf. Repeating the process next on Harry, and then on Hermione, Dumbledore gathered the three leafs and lit the edges on fire with the flame from the red candle before dropping the burning the leaves into the pool of water.

Instead of the fire dying in the water, it seemed to expand from beneath its depth and the heady smell of forest and some unidentifiable scent filled the air. Stirring the burning liquid with his wand, Dumbledore began the main incantation as he slowly picked up the ink well and began pouring the thick substance into the bowl in a spiral motion.

_By air, earth, water, and fire_

_By moon, and sun and light and dark _

_We gather blood of varying sire_

_And bond the bondless with this mark _

_Three bodies, three minds, three bloods_

_Of purity, treachery and mud_

_The connection between you will bind_

_All of heart, body, and mind _

_Be forewarned of every gift _

_That has a price to bear_

_Some will gain and some will lose_

_A chance you take to dare_

Hermione stood listening to the solemn chant and felt the same coil of unease go through her as certain phrases jumped out at her; _bond the bondless? Of purity, treachery, and mud? Some will gain and some will lose?_ She looked at Dumbledore again, searching for some kind of reassurance but the elderly wizard had eyes only for the swirling black fluid that seemed to gleam with an emerald tint when the sunlight hit it.

She felt the sensitive hairs on the back on her neck prickle and she raised her head to find Professor d'Georgesses staring intently at her with an unreadable expression on his face. Suddenly very uncomfortable, Hermione took a small step towards her left and felt the comforting brush of warm wool against her arm; she prayed Professor Snape wouldn't notice, and if he did notice, that he wouldn't move away. Something about his whole ritual didn't sit well with Hermione.

Snape felt the young witch next to him suddenly shift closer and he nearly jerked at the innocent contact of her robes against his own. Looking up, Snape caught the eye of d'Georgesses as the man stared at the young woman beside Snape with an almost feral gleam to his eye; Snape shot him an icy glare that would have frozen grown men in their steps but the mysterious stranger only returned his look with a sly smile.

Allowing the contact for the moment, Snape glanced once more down that the young woman beside him and felt a sense of true awe; no body _ever_ stepped closer to him for the mere comfort of his presence. In fact it had been years since anyone other than Albus or Minerva has touched him willingly; he inwardly balked the small sensation the little know-it-all had caused within him. _She probably just think d'Georgesses will be more scared of you than Potter over there, _a voice said, _that, or the candle fumes have finally gotten to her…_

With a final murmured sentence, Dumbledore abruptly went silent as he added the last ingredient to the swirling, streaming bowl – the black ore. Dropping it in, Dumbledore snatched his hand away and the entire room watched in silence at the beautiful yet haunting concoction hissed angrily, white smoke billowing up from the dark liquid. Turning, Dumbledore blew the red candle out and let out a long sigh, "It's finished."

Potter looked bewildered at the steaming bowl, "Uh…Headmaster, I don't understand. Are we bound?" He shot Granger a look as if wondering if _she_ thought they were bound and Snape held back an exasperated sigh.

"No, Mister Potter, we are not _bound_," Snape said dryly, "We have yet to complete the final act of any binding ritual – the Mark of the bind."

The boy looked utterly lost.

"Watch," Snape said, retrieving his wand from one of the many hidden pockets of his robes and dipping it carefully into the hissing concoction.

"Be sure to put it somewhere no one will see, Severus," Dumbledore said, watching his Potions Master carefully, "It will only be visible when the charm is in use but no need taking any chances. Perhaps your arm…?"

Snape's usual scowl deepened but he conceded. Rolling up his sleeve, Snape ignored the various gazes that racked over the hideous Dark Mark that marred the skin of his forearm and calmly laid the tip pf his wand against an unmarked section of skin. The effect was instantaneous; the liquid seemed to be drawn from the tip of his wand into his pale skin and the shape of a black pentagon that shined emerald appeared only momentarily before disappearing without a trace.

Dumbledore let out a breath, "It looks like everything is working properly. Now Mister Potter, you and Miss Granger need to place your marks and the binding will be complete. Just make sure not to spill any of the liquid, it's highly poisonous and acidic to anyone whose blood it does not contain."

Nodding, the two students considered for a moment about where to put their respective marks. Eventually Harry elected to place his on the heel of his right foot and Hermione at the very top of the nape of her neck. The last of the ritual completed; Dumbledore clapped his hands merrily, obviously delighted that everything was going to plan.

"Very good," he said, beaming, "Now is anyone feeling any…side effects of the binding? These rituals are tricky so strange things are known to happen."

Hermione and Harry shook there heads while Snape only regarded the Headmaster stonily, not bothering with a reply.

_If there was anything wrong do you honestly think he would reverse the charm?_ Snape wondered to himself, and inwardly shook his head – no, this was far too important, far too needed, to simply _reverse._

"Wonderful!" Dumbledore gushed, "Now for the last test. Mister Potter, if you would please step towards me."

Wary, Snape wasn't surprised at all to hear Dumbledore whisper, "_Legilimens"_ while pointing his wand at a surprised Potter. At the same time the spell hit Potter, Snape could feel the invasion of his mind – well, not _his_ mind, but _a_ mind all the same. Barricading Potter's mind through the bonding link felt strange, but Snape could tell it worked when Dumbledore blinked and then beamed about the room.

"Well done!" he said exuberantly to Snape and then, turning his gaze to Harry, "Now, Mister Potter, I want to hear no more excuses of why you can not learn Legilimency. Professor Snape will protect your mind while you train so I expect you to put your best efforts forwards."

Harry mumbled something noncommittal.

"Very good," Dumbledore said, "Now, I think that will be all for today." He turned to Hermione who stood hovering on the background, feeling slightly out of touch with the rest of the group. "I can not tell you how thankful I am that you agreed to help with this, Miss Granger, I know it may feel as though you are not much more than another ingredient in this ritual but the truth of the matter is we could not have done this without you."

Hermione sent him a pleased smile, "Thank you, Headmaster."

"Um…actually, Headmaster I was wondering I might speak with you for a second," Hermione said, and Snape could see she anxious, her brown eyes excited yet wary.

Guiding her to a corner of the room, Snape watched as Dumbledore listened intently to the young witch's words and Snape's curiosity was sparked. His eyes flickering to Potter, he could see the boy knew exactly what his friend was whispering about and once again Snape felt the frustration of not knowing something others did.

"Quite the little bundle of nerves," a light voice said from beside his and Snape turned to regard d'Georgesses stonily.

"Miss Granger?" Snape asked, following his gaze, "I suppose. The girl always seemed to be worked about something or another." He scowled, "She probably wants to grace one of the teachers as an assistant this year…"

"She has spirit, it's quite appealing," d'Georgesses responded evenly and Snape narrowed his eyes threateningly at the almost wistful tone of the man.

"She is also a student here," he said tightly, "I don't know exactly who you are or what kind of arrangement you have worked out with Dumbledore but you will do well to remember that."

"Dumbledore has not told you of our accord?" the man asked, a sly smile flickering across his lips and Snape scowled.

"We are to discuss it after this meeting."

D'Georgesses nodded, "Indeed."

After what seemed like forever, the witch handed Dumbledore a sheet of parchment littered with her tiny, neat handwriting and Dumbledore sent her and Potter on their ways. Almost as soon as the door was shut an excited look graced the face of the Headmaster.

"Well this day is just full of lovely surprises isn't it?" Dumbledore said, taking a seat behind his desk after banishing the remains of the ritual.

"What now?" Snape asked; his patience nearly at an end.

Dumbledore waved him off. "It can wait, at least for a bit, but for now – your questions, Severus." Inviting them to take a seat, Dumbledore leaned back in his plush, high back chair and regarded the Frenchman with a considerate expression.

"León is here under rather…_unique_ circumstances," Dumbledore began, "With Voldemort gathering support rapidly from so many of the magical species, tightened relationships with the clans are more important now than ever. León is merely a representative from one of the clans, a go-between if you will."

Snape let his gaze rack over the newcomer once again, this time not caring if he saw him or not. _Obviously not Centaur, Mermaid, or Giant_, Snape thought dryly, _which leaves…Werewolf, Veela, Nymph and…_Snape's gaze shot to Dumbledore in a look of disbelief.

"You can not be serious, Headmaster," he said incredulously, "A vampire?"

"We prefer the term Nosferatu," d'Georgesses responded, and merely smiled placating under Snape's heated gaze, "You needn't look so appalled, Severus, the students will be quite safe with me. Plus with my glamour in place I'm practically invisible to the untrained eye."

"A shame the word of a vampire doesn't carry the same weight it used to," Snape snapped, and turned back to Dumbledore, "Albus, please, reconsider this."

"I'm afraid it's already done, Severus," Dumbledore replied, gesturing towards d'Georgesses, "We need the Nosferatu support in the confrontation to come. You have no idea what it took to convince their Elders not to side with Voldemort. We're lucky to have León here."

"You did not see the way he was looking at Miss Granger," Snape response almost viciously, "Vampires are pleasure seeking creatures without conscious be it in blood or flesh. He looked like he wanted to eat the girl, and trust me, she noticed."

Dumbledore turned his accusing gaze back to d'Georgesses and the vampire shrugged lightly, "I am still getting use to being around humans again and you _did_ prick her finger." An almost dreamy look crossed the vampire's face as he sighed. "Such a young thing," he said softly, "The age when first stirrings warm the blood; all fresh and ripe for the picking." He chuckled, "Even as a human, I always did have an abnormal love of women."

"Miss Granger is hardly a _woman_," Snape sneered.

León raised an eyebrow before Dumbledore could interject, "She _looks_ like a woman looks, she _acts_ like a woman acts, she _smells_ like a woman smells." He sent Snape a purposely toothy smile, "And above all she _wants_ as a woman wants, she just doesn't know it yet."

"León!" Dumbledore shouted, anger flaming in his eyes, "That will be enough out of you. We have our agreement, you know the rules and you _will_ respect them." Snape curled his hand into a first beneath his robes, he knew the vampire sensed Snape's dislike of him and was trying to goad him, and yet knowing that didn't quell the surge of rage that swept through the Potion Master's frame.

"My apologies, Headmaster," d'Georgesses said, holding up his hands in a sign of truce, "I overstepped; it has been over sixty years since I last smelt a warm blooded female. Forgive me."

"How do you know we can trust him, Dumbledore?" Snape asked, tightly reined fury in his voice.

There was silence in the room for an ageless moment before d'Georgesses spoke.

"The subject Miss Granger spoke with you of," d'Georgesses stated softly, "it was talk of horcruxes was it not?"

Snape turned surprised to Dumbledore; _what in the world would the little know-it-all have to say about horcruxes?_

Dumbledore nodded at the vampire's question and reached within his robes to retrieve the sheet of parchment Miss Granger had left.

"Miss Grange is an extremely resourceful witch. Since she first heard of the horcruxes' existence she recognized their importance in the war. She came to me early in the summer saying she'd like to be a part of the research team that's been looking into possible horcrux objects but I explained to her she was not yet an Order member and that she should wait." A fond gleam warmed Dumbledore's gaze and he chuckled softly, "_Apparently_, Mister Potter and Mister Weasley have had a more lasting impression on her than I would have thought. She's been privately working on compiling a list of possible horcruxes all summer – two of which she's almost certain contain pieces of Voldemort's soul."

"Very well, Headmaster," Snape interrupted, eyeing the vampire warily, "as good as all that news is, I don't understand the point Professor d'Georgesses is trying to make."

The brunette vampire nodded his head to Dumbledore, "If you would, Professor, please read off the two objects Miss Granger is absolutely _positive_ contain the soul fragments."

Dumbledore looked spectacle but acquiesced, "the first the Helga Hufflepuff's cup and the second is Rowena Ravenclaw's mirror."

Reaching demurely into a pocket of his simple black robes, d'Georgesses stunned the two wizards speechless as he calmly removed the sparkling sapphire and diamond mirror that had disappeared from the Hogwarts antique collection all those years ago.

"_Merlin_," Dumbledore whispered, tears coming to his eyes, "Dear boy, how did you get this?"

The vampire looked duly unsettled by the sight of tears and hastily took a step back. "I will not lie to you, Dumbledore; you were not the first side we considered joining in this war." He shrugged, "Good or bad; those words hold no meaning to the Nosferatu – they still don't. We simply have more to gain by joining you."

Snape narrowed his eyes; _just what had Dumbledore promised to these creatures in return for their support?_

"We were contacted months ago by the Dark Lord and I was sent to…_check things out_ by my superiors, before we entered into any kind of agreement." The light eyed man's nose turned up in disgust, "One day a small…rodent-like man left the side of his master for the first time since I'd been there; needless to say I thought it odd and followed him. Eventually we came to a graveyard of sorts and he entered a crypt carrying a package – when he left he wasn't holding anything." Again he shrugged, "So I took it. I had my suspicious of what it was – I simply wanted to wait for the right time to present it to you."

Snape glared at the man, "You mean _if_ you presented it to us."

D'Georgesses met his gaze unfazed and Snape suddenly realized what it was about the man that had felt so _off._ There was no fear in his eyes, no apprehension, no suspicion or disgust as he gazed at Snape – there was nothing. All the usual emotions that Snape usually evoked in people were gone and for a second Snape felt as if both his armor and his weapon had been ripped away in a single move.

"You needn't worry about me," d'Georgesses said, and Snape couldn't be sure if he was talking to him or Dumbledore, "I am only a herald, a messenger, the _go-between_, and at the moment, a teacher. We need never fall into confrontation. I hope you will take this gift with the sentiment of which it was intended – partnership." His piercing gaze drove deep into Snape's but he refused to blink or look away. "I am not a battle leader as you, Dumbledore, nor a warrior like you, Severus – but I will do what I can for this cause. You have my word," his gaze blinked once at Snape before looking away, "for however much that is worth to you."

There was silence in the air for a beat and Snape reluctantly gave a small nod of his head to Dumbledore. "It is enough," the Headmaster said, giving the vampire a bow, "we thank you for your token of loyalty. It will help greatly in the battle to come."

Snape only gazed steely at the vampire; he didn't like him…but he could respect him and, if worse come to worse, work with him.

The vampire nodded, his face looking all seriousness as he gave them another toothy smile. "Well then," he said airily, "If that is all sorted out, I still have yet to move into my quarters. I must be going."

Everyone stood and Snape watched calmly as the enigmatic figure disappeared though the tower door, his body barely causing a ripple in the air around him as he crossed the room with inhumane grace and stealth.

"It's going to be hard living with someone else who can walk like that," Dumbledore said, breaking the silence with a chuckle, "I'm barely used to _you_."

"Indeed," Snape replied dryly.

Dumbledore sent him a look, "Is there something else you wanted, Severus? If you don't hurry you're going to miss lunch."

Snape hesitated, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself before beginning, "Actually, Headmaster, I've been wondering what your plans were concerning Miss Granger and her parents. She's bound to owl them soon…have you figured out a way to tell her yet?"

A sad look crossed the elder wizard's face and Snape felt almost regretful he had brought it up at such a hopeful time.

"I'm afraid it's in the best interest of everyone we keep silent about it for now," Dumbledore said softly, "And yes, she has indeed owled her parents. I was forced to respond, so as not to arouse suspicion." Closing his eyes, Dumbledore brought as hand up and rubbed tiredly at his eyes, "The words were hard to write, so very hard. Did you know she keeps her parents naively unaware of most of the danger she's been through. I don't think she ever plans on telling them she was in St. Mungos, or that she was even hurt for that matter."

Snape looked resolutely away from his mentor; uncomfortable with the tightness in his throat. No it was not his fault…but someone had to feel responsible; she was, as the spell specified, _bondless_ by all means…no brothers, nor sisters, or mother or father. She was very much alone in the world, and she didn't know it yet.

Sighing, Snape turned towards the door. "Very well then, Headmaster," he said gravely and caught his eye with a pointed look, "I hope you'll keep me informed."

Dumbledore waved him off, looking all of his one-hundred and fifty-six years as he smiled tiredly, "Of course, dear boy."

Stepping out into the hallway, Snape shut the door of the Headmaster's office with a firm _thud_ and winced at the sharp, burning pain that shot down his sore shoulders. Nonplused he rolled his joints and turned away heading towards the dinning hall – only a week till school started and he had no wish to waste the silence.

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On the other side of the castle, Hermione abruptly dropped the book she'd been reading as a sharp, burning pain suddenly swept through her shoulder. Cringing, her hand reached up to massage the sore when, as abruptly as it had come, the pain disappeared.

Frowning at her robe-clad arm, Hermione shook her head in bewilderment. _Stranger things have happened_, she thought, and turned resolutely back to her book, dismissing the incident without another thought. Unseen, the emerald of her Binding Mark slowly ebbed away, the Mark receding in synch with the pain. Little did Hermione realize how that single pivotal moment would change everything she ever thought she knew…

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**-suspenseful music- **

**What part will ****León play in the upcoming chapters? What will DADA be like with a vampire -cough- Nosfertu, for a teacher? What will the Ministry think if they ever find out? Why is the Nosfertu helping Dumbledore anyway? Plus, the question that tops them all, _when is Hermione going to figure out she can feel Snape's pain?_ I'll leave you to your guesses. Have fun.**

**I love cliffhangers; they make the readers all frustrated and I get a sadistic kick out of it. **

**REVIEW AND I'LL WORK ON GETTING THE NEXT CHAPTER OUT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!**

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_I suppose we all have our little eccentricies._


	10. Silly Girl

**These things just keep getting longer and longer (the chapters, not the author notes, I swear!) _Almost 7000 words?! _Thanks for all the great reviews, I was really relieved with the turnout. Glad you haven't given up on me! **

**I'd like to address something – ****yes, I ****_know_**** there needs to be more Snape/Hermione interaction! ****_I know. _****I can definitely say now that the ground work has been laid we can really get the relationship moving and I'm sorry for the eight chapter build up. I always have this problem…hm, something else I need to work on. How encouraging. **

**SHOUT OUT TO ALL MY WONDERFUL REVIEWERS WHO KEEP ME GOING!! Thanks guys, you rock. Chapter is (as usual) unbeted so all mistakes are mine (Mine!). Will replace chapter later. **

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CHAPTER TEN – 

When Professor McGonagall had first opened the doors to the Head's room, Hermione had been in awe of the beautiful tower room with its spacious lounge area and breathtaking view of the Forbidden Forest; but now, as she stood frozen to the spot eyeing the stormy-eyed youth in front of her, she knew it had been too good to be true.

"Granger," he said simply, his gaze boring into hers as if searching for something, as he stood regally in front of the large stone fireplace. Hermione met his look head on, refusing to show fear or even unease despite the butterflies causing havoc in her stomach. The son of a Death Eater, heir to a prominent pureblood line, the Slytherin Prince by all means, her best friend's most hated rival, and now…Head Boy.

"Malfoy," Hermione replied evenly, matching his stoic gaze with an unblinking one of her own. He would never dare attack her within the Hogwart's walls, to do so was suicide, but all the same Hermione kept a firm grip on the wand hidden in her pocket.

Draco continued to watch her; a thousand thoughts rushing through his brain all at once. She looked well enough, he supposed, nothing like the grieving, distraught daughter he'd expected to see. _I always thought Granger was close to her parents, _he mused and narrowed his eyes at the girl before, _but she doesn't even look upset. Of course, she __did__ leave her father at the Manor to die…who knew she could be such a heartless bitch?_ Turning away to face the fire, Malfoy felt an unbidden sense of disappointment in the little know-it-all. _Figures, even the people who say they fight for good have a dark side. Everyone has a dark side. _

Unconsciously, his hand reached up to toy with the small trinket he kept around his neck but then abruptly scowled inwardly at himself as he realized just how much of a habit it had become to fiddle with the golden ring. _Damn habits…_

"Listen up, Granger," he said, his voice devoid of all emotion, "Since it seems like we're going to be stuck working together this year and I have better things to do than spend my days fighting with you, let's just call it truce?"

Hermione blinked in surprise at the back of the black-clad youth; _was this some kind of trick?_

"Are you serious?" she asked, coming to stand uneasily beside him, "How do I know this isn't just some stupid prank, Malfoy?"

The boy turned to face her and Hermione found herself taken back at the serious expression on his face. "Some people grow up, Granger," he said flatly, "Just keep your filthy Gryffindor hands off my stuff and I'll do my best to ignore your tiresome presence."

Irritation rushed through Hermione veins. "It isn't much of a truce if you insist on insulting me with your every breath, Ferret," she retorted heatedly and watched satisfied as Malfoy narrowed his eyes.

Sighing and letting out an irritated sound, Malfoy turned away. "Just stay out of my way, Granger." Without a backward glance, the light-hair youth walked to one of the staircase and disappeared, leaving Hermione to only stare amazed after him.

While he had not been pleasant, Hermione could never remember a time he'd failed to insult her Muggle heritage as he just had. He'd insulted her House and her person in a single blow…but something about the way he said it made Hermione furrow her brow in confusion. It was like he was going through his paces, not really caring what he said or who he said it to – just keeping face for the sake of being Malfoy.

He had not changed much since the last time she'd seen him; the stiff posture, the upturned nose, perpetual sneer, and cool demeanor were all there. He'd shot up another couple inches over the summer; a fact that annoyed Hermione for no concrete reason other than she found herself having to look _up_ to people a lot more often nowadays. He also wore his hair down now, shoulder length and pulled back in the same manner as his father. It was more than a little unsettling to say the least. And then there were his eyes…they were weary eyes - eyes of someone much older that had seen things you do not speak of. They were eyes like Dumbledore's when he could not fix a problem, eyes like Harry's when you catch him staring off into nothing, eyes like Moody's when he'd deep in his cups.

The changes in Malfoy weren't obvious, but Hermione could see there was something different about the Malfoy heir this year. Something had happened, something had changed him.

A shiver ran down Hermione's spine despite the proximity of the fire and she inwardly shook her head. _Stop dwelling on it. He said he wants a truce – just accept it. Who cares why?_ Firmly, she pushed her puzzled thoughts away. For now, there were other things to be done.

Quickly walking over to her luggage, Hermione levitated it with a small flick of her wand before heading towards the staircase opposite to the one Malfoy had taken. At the top of the curved staircase was a thick, mahogany door – its wood aged and worn but still sturdy as it stood before her. Bending down to whisper her password to the keyhole, Hermione smiled in delight as the door swung open to reveal the interior.

Obviously the décor had been tailored to her house rather than her personal preference, but Hermione loved it all the same. Bright crimson bed curtains hid a modest queen sized bed, gold and red draperies accented the large north facing window seat, and a beautiful antique desk filled the room. Dropping her things by the door, Hermione let her hands wander over the cold stone of the fireplace, the glossy smoothness of the desk, the silky texture of the bed sheets in an old habit of awe.

Walking through the only other door in the room, Hermione was delighted to see the stone archway hid a luxurious bathroom only slightly smaller than the Prefect's. A deep bathtub big enough to stretch out in was placed in a corner with a generously sized shower next to it – both made of some kind of off white marble or granite.

Looking up, Hermione saw the ceiling was oddly shaped and realized Malfoy's quarters must be directly next to hers since they shared the tower. _Thank Merlin, that's all we have to share_, Hermione thought, cringing at the thought of needing to use a single bathroom.

Returning to her bedroom, Hermione spied a conveniently placed window towards the rafters of the sloped ceiling and realized that now the owl post could come directly to her room instead of her having to go all the way down to the dining hall. _Now maybe I can sleep in a bit!_

Unconsciously rolling her shoulders in an effort to stretch her tight muscles, Hermione began unpacking. Only a week left of summer and she still had a ton of things to get done.

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Exactly eight days later, Hermione found herself closing her eyes in blissful relief that school had _finally_ started up once again. These past few days had hardly been the relaxing experience she'd anticipated with final touches to be put on essays, helping Ron and Dean _start_ their own, memorizing and rememorizing Head Girl duties, plus rereading most of her Level 7 text books and constantly avoiding Malfoy even in the safety of the common room. It had been exhausting to say the least.

_Now that school's started, maybe I can finally get some free time_, Hermione thought, smiling her herself as she picked at her breakfast. Glancing down at the paper in her hand, Hermione felt some of the tension recede out of her shoulders. Yes, she was taking most of the N.E.W.T level classes available but she _enjoyed_ the challenge and the experience. She would finally be able to work with some of the really advance magical aspects of the wizarding world and it made excitement course through her.

"Merlin," Ron exclaimed, looking at his much emptier schedule, "Will you look at this, Double Potions _three days a week_!" His expression was absolutely scandalized as he gazed disbelieving at the paper. "It's almost enough to make me not want to be an Auror!"

"Snape's going to slaughter me this year…" Neville muttered into his porridge and Hermione look surprised at him.

"You're taking Advance Potions too, Neville?"

The blond boy flushed. "Yeah," he said, slightly dejected, "I know I'm no good at it but it's required if you want to go into the Herbology field so…"

Hermione nodded, sending him an encouraging smile. "Don't worry, Neville, I'll be your partner again this year. Everything will work out fine."

He sent her a grateful look.

"At least it's the last class of the day," Harry put in from his seat beside Ron, "I'd hate having to go through classes all day smelling like some kind of nasty potions experiment."

There were agreeing nods from around the table.

Hermione felt the bench shift beneath her and turned to see Dean scanning her schedule, his own in hand as he compared classes.

"Hey, look," he said, sending her a winning smile, "We've got Advance Charms together; maybe we can be partners."

Hermione returned his smile; hopeless as he was in Transfiguration and Potion, there was no denying Dean held a certain aptitude for Charms and Hermione was looking forward to having a partner who could keep up with her this year.

"Maybe," she replied, not seeing the pouting scowl Ron was shooting at Dean from over her shoulder.

"Great," Dean said, snagging a piece of toast from her plate before rising, "Well, I still have to go grab my books before class." His gaze passed once around the group before landing once again on Hermione. "I'll see you all around." Hermione turned back to her breakfast as the blue-eyed boy left the Hall and was suddenly taken back at the glare Ron was shooting her.

"What?" she asked, and watched bewildered as Ron's face turned a little shade of pink.

"Nuth'in," he mumbled, turning away to refill his plate.

Suddenly, a large barn own with a white underside landed in the middle of the Gryffindor table, its impressive claws knocking over more than one goblet in the process.

"Shite!" Ron yelled, jumping up as a cup of pumpkin juice landed in his lap. The rest of the table only laughed while Harry calmly retrieved the letter. Without waiting for a treat for his efforts, the owl took off once again and Hermione glanced at Harry only to find her best friend hungrily devouring the contents of the missive.

_Must be Order stuff_, she thought dejectedly, as she watched Ron crane his head over Harry's shoulder in an attempt to read the letter. Again, Hermione felt the unfairness of the situation – even the Ministry recognized that she'd legally been seventeen for over three months due to her Time-Turner usage but _no,_ Dumbledore had to do everything by his own rules. Hermione privately fumed.

"You probably shouldn't be reading that here," Hermione said, trying to keep the testiness out of her voice, "Everyone can see you."

Harry didn't even glance up as he continued reading, "Calm down, Hermione, no one cares."

Sighing, Hermione risked a glance at the Slytherin table but was relived to find no one was watching. Scanning the table, Hermione was surprised to see the Slytherin prince sitting purposely separated from the rest of his classmates; his eyes trained resolutely on his breakfast as his picked at his eggs, his posture one of a bored youth who couldn't even summon excitement for the first day of class. _How strange…_

"Hermione," Harry whispered from beside her and Hermione jumped at the sudden intrusion to her thoughts.

"What?" she asked.

Gesturing to follow, Harry wordlessly rose from the table with Ron in tow. _At least he has enough sense not to discuss it in the middle of breakfast_, Hermione thought as she followed the duo out into the hallway, _I guess I should count my blessings. _

Making sure the hallway was deserted before he began, Harry excitedly started explaining the contents of the letter. "Dumbledore just sent us the finalities of our training," he said exuberantly, his green eyes flashing in anticipation, "I can't tell you much except that we're going to be meeting Mad-Eye and Remus a couple nights a week. If we aren't back to the common room by curfew I don't want you to worry about us. We probably won't begin our missions till early November but Dumbledore wants a jump start on our training."

"How in Merlin's beard do you plan on balancing Order training, school work, and Snape's Occlumency lessons?" Hermione asked expectantly, looking between her two best friends.

"Plus Quidditch," Ron added, but quickly shut his mouth under Hermione's glare.

"It'll work out," Harry said flippantly, shrugging his shoulders, "We'll handle the fighting for now. Don't worry your head. And if we need any help with classes or something there's always you, right?"

Hermione was at a loss; yes, she would always help Harry and Ron if they needed her and yet, somehow his words made her feel worse about the entire situation. _Ah yes, Hermione the brain_, a cruel voice taunted her in her mind,_ Always dependable. Always responsible. Ever eager to please. Good enough to research and plan, just not good enough to fight – to do something __useful__. Left behind to toil in her books and quills…how predictable. _

"Yeah," she said, her earlier anger fading away as looked down at the stone floors. "You'll be careful, won't you?" Hermione asked and Ron laughed at her.

"Relax, Herm, it's just training."

Hermione kept her gazer steady on Harry. "For now it is," she said softly, "But what ever comes in Novermber, I want you to be careful."

"Allright, allright," they both agreed a little too readily but Hermione let it go. For now.

"Well, I guess we better be heading to class," she said, glancing at a clock, "Wouldn't want to be late our first day of school would we?"

Both the boys rolled their eyes at the predictable Hermione comment before following her obediently down the hall. First day of classes and things were already heating up.

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Many hours later, Hermione found herself bent resolutely over her Memory Potion as it hissed and smoked angrily in its cauldron. Professor Snape had barely said a word to his Advance Potions class as he swept dramatically into the classroom, his long, black teaching robes billowing out behind him in his wake.

A curt reminder that he would tolerate no foolishness in his classroom, the piercing sweep of his gaze as it roved the small class, and his trademark condescending sneer was the extent of Snape's introduction to Advance Potions before he sent the students scurrying to fetch their ingredients and begin.

The Memory Potion itself took two hours – _minimum,_ to brew and, even with the extended time Double potions allowed, that only left students thirty minutes to prepare their ingredients and begin. _No room for error, no place for incompetence_, Hermione thought as she hurriedly finished chopping her Mandrake Root, _How very Snape-like. _

Rolling her shoulders uncomfortably, Hermione wonder what in Merlin's beard had been affecting her body of late. Over the past week she had been experiencing strange phenomenons she had no explanation for – shots of discomfort down her back, small, sharp pains in her hands where there were no cuts, even once there had been a hot, burning pain spill down her thigh – but there'd been no mark.

_Could this be one of those side effects the Headmaster was talking about?_ Hermione mused, as she calmly stirred her potion in a counterclockwise motion,_ But then, what if it is? These little aches aren't too bad, nothing to worry Dumbledore about and __certainly__ nothing to reverse the Binding for. Best to just keep it to myself for now—_

"Get down!" a strong, clear voice suddenly yelled, the urgency in his tone enough to make Hermione throw herself to the ground beside her cauldron. Not a split second later, a powerful explosion shook the walls of the dungeon room and Hermione abruptly gasped in pain as searing agony suddenly impaled her left hand. The air was quickly filled with the smell of burnt potion and scorched wood but Hermione could only cradle her injured hand hard against her chest as she staggered to her feet.

Looking down, Hermione was stuck speechless at the sight of her hand. It was perfectly unharmed.

Experimentally, Hermione flexed her fingers but then viciously cursed as the hot, coursing pain flooded up her arm.

"Definitely _not_ fine," she managed to say through gritted teeth. Looking around the classroom, Hermione could see the source of the explosion was one of the far cauldrons; its copper bottom now scorched black and the air above the station clouded with the lingering smoke. Amazingly, the damage seemed to have been magically contained and only the demolished corner of the classroom showed any signs of the explosion's force.

"Mister Weasley," a sharp voice snapped, immediately reducing the now whispering students to silence, "Kindly stop standing there like a gaping fool and help Mister Stills to the Infirmary."

Hermione turned to see her Potions Master standing imposingly over the sitting figure of Ryan, a nice but rather absentminded Ravenclaw who was currently ash-white and trembling in a pile of glass. Hermione looked closer but other that the obvious shakiness, he seemed all right.

_Which is more than you can say for yourself_, a slightly panicky voice reminded her, the pain in her arm slowly numbing to point of feeling needles instead of knives. _What in the world…?_

"Professor! Your hand!" Pansy suddenly shrieked, and Hermione winced at the sound. Following Pansy's horrified line of sight, Hermione felt her sharp intake of breath smother a gasp, _his hand…_

A long, thin blade of glass from one of the many broken phials stood lodged in the pale flesh of the Potion Master's hand, an unnoticed trail of scarlet blood trickling down his palm to drip from long fingers. Upon seeing the offending object, Hermione could have sworn she heard Professor Snape's scoff of agitation before he reached down and, with almost inhuman nonchalance, yanked the shard out of his hand with a sharp, precise pull.

Hermione bit her lip to quell the abrupt gasp that threatened to leave her lips as her own hand jerked in reaction to the sudden pain, and she wisely turned away to brace herself on the edge of a nearby table.

_This cannot be happening…this cannot be happening…_

Hermione could felt the pulse of pain rapidly throbbing in her palm suddenly fade away and, without looking, she knew the Professor must have healed himself. Voices that sounded as if they were miles instead of feet away, echoed in her mind but all Hermione could hear was the blood rushing through to her brain.

_Not just any pain, __his__ pain. It has to be. Oh my god…the Binding…oh my god…What am I going to do? What am I going to do?_

Spots danced in from of Hermione's eyes as she tried to calm her abruptly erratic breathing.

_Calm down, Hermione,_ she told herself, _hyperventilating won't solve anything._ Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and tried to digest the myriad of whirling thoughts that were currently rushing through her brain. This had to be some kind of side effect of the Binding, that much she was sure of, but then, was Harry also feeling the Potion Master's pain? A quick side-long look to her best friend told her he certainly was not.

_Only me then, _she decided, her unease heightening, _Merlin, what am I supposed to do? _Her first instinct told her to stay quiet about the whole thing; there was nothing short of reversing the Binding that could undo this and Hermione had no intention of destroying Harry's last hope for his Occulmency lessons.

_You have to do something though!_ the rational part of her mind screamed, _you've seen what the Professor looks like after he returns from a revel. He tries to hide it, but you know he's in pain. Do you really think you could do the same? Hide this whole thing from Ron and Harry? From all your teachers? From Dumbledore?_

The idea didn't hold much appeal but Hermione couldn't see anyway around keeping her condition a secret. She didn't dare risk Dumbledore reserving the Binding – it was far too important, but there wasn't anyone else she could entrust with the knowledge. Harry and Ron were out of the question, they would never let the Bind stay if they knew she was in danger. She didn't know Professor d'Georgesses well enough to even consider sharing such information. The only person left was Professor Snape.

_Why not?_ something in her mind questioned, and Hermione found herself grappling to come up with an excuse. She knew the Professor didn't care overly much for her wellbeing so he probably wouldn't have any qualms about allowing the Bind to stay. He was, if anything, a Slytherin, so he would understand the necessity of continuing Harry's lesson. The only genuine problem Hermione could see was his loyalty to Dumbledore, she could never imagine Professor Snape willing lying to the Headmaster about anything.

_What if you make him swear to keep this a secret?_ a small, mischievous voice in Hermione's mind piped up, _the Student-Teacher Wand Oath would be enough to hold him to his word. As a Hogwarts teacher, he can't deny your request for the oath and, unless you're in mortal danger, he isn't allowed to divulge anything you tell him. It's perfect. _

Hermione nibbled on her bottom lip nervously, she knew the Oath was usually used for things like pregnancies, scandals, tragedies – things that you need to speak about but don't want repeated. To break a Student-Teacher Oath was immediate grounds for dismissal for the teacher; something she was sure the Professor would never risk. It was perfect, and yet, it seemed a little…Slytherin, for her tastes.

_Don't knock it till you try it, _the same little voice said and Hermione sigh inwardly. She knew it was far too risky not to tell anyone; what if something happened to her? No body would know her secret. No body could step forward. At least this way, worst come to worst, Professor Snape would be able to help her. Hermione buried her eyes in the palm of her hand, it wasn't a good plan, hell – it was worse than the time she'd used the Time-Turner with Harry in her third year, but it was the only plan she had. It would have to do. She would tell Professor Snape and Professor Snape alone. She could trust him.

Her thoughts finally able to rest a little, Hermione brought her focus back in on the classroom around her. Ron had left with a dazed Ryan in tow, a couple students were using cleaning spells on the wall and floor, Harry and Neville were fixing a broken desk, and the remaining Slytherins were lounging around, snickering and watching as their classmates put the classroom to rights. A quick glance towards the Professor's desk showed Snape bent furiously over a piece of parchment, the grim line of his mouth and the tightness of his jaw subtle signs of his obvious anger.

_An accident report_, Hermione realized dimly, surprised that in all her years of study she'd never once seen Professor Snape need to fill out one of those forms. Still a little shaken and her stomach not all that sturdy, Hermione turned and began busying herself with helping Harry and Neville repair the desk.

A short while later, the classroom put once again to rights and all evidence of the day's disaster gone, the Advance Potions students sat silently at their desks, eyes dropped and nerves on end as Professor Snape's piercing gaze swept over the classroom.

"For the past fifteen years of my career," the tall, dark man began, his silky voice no louder than a hiss, "Advance Potions has been a privilege for the few, the gifted, the _capable._ Starting this year however—" his gaze rested on Ron and Harry's table, "—the Headmaster has, shall we say, _lowered the bar_ and opened this class to those of less deserving caliber."

Slow, calculated steps echoes throughout the classroom as the Potions Master began walked up the isle and Hermione could feel Neville tremble next to her.

"I will not pretend to understand the workings of the Headmaster's logic and, while he may retain the power to decide _who is accepted_ into this class, remember this, _I_ am the one who dictates _who stays._"

Hermione let out a deliberately deep breath as the imposing man walked slowly by her table.

"Incidents like Mister Still's will result in the immediate dismissal from this class," he continued, every word bearing heavy meaning, "I will not accept incompetence, stupidity, foolishness, or _insubordination_." The swish of heavy robes signaled his stop of movement as he surveyed the classroom one last time. "_Six_ feet on the review of basic Level 6 material due tomorrow; no exceptions. Now get out of my sight."

The flurry of hastily packed books and parchments and then the abrupt emptying of the classroom was exactly what Hermione had hoped for. A quick gesture to Ron and Harry that she would catch up with them later and Hermione found herself suddenly alone in an empty classroom…with Snape. Every fiber of her being begged her not to do this, and yet Hermione stonily braced herself even as she wiped her suddenly clammy palms on the fabric of her skirt.

The term 'now or never' sprung to mind as she slowly approached the Professor's desk, who knew when she'd be able to work up enough nerve to confront him again. This had to happen now.

"Um…Professor?" she asked, her voice sounding small even to herself and she grimaced; so much for not showing fear.

Snape sighed inwardly, his patience just about at an end and it was only the first bloody day of classes. _Potter and his bloody exception to every damn rule in the book_, he cursed silently, _people like Stills, Weasley, and Merlin forbid, Longbottom should never have made it to this class. They haven't the skill nor the discipline to understand advance potions. It's an art of precision for Merlin's sake and they're butchering the subtleness of it!_

The sudden sound of a soft voice jolted Snape out of his thought and his head snapped up, damn it, he hadn't even heard the little twit approach!_ What in bloody hell did she want now?_

"What, Miss Granger?" he asked harshly, his quill pausing on the parchment on front of him as he gazed steely at her. _She's nervous,_ he observed, seeing the delicate flesh of her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stood before him,_ that's unusual._ Looking closer, he realized her face was a little pale and she seemed to be having trouble spitting out what she wanted to say.

"By all means, Miss Granger, do take your time," he drawled sardonically.

"I need to speak with you," she finally began, her words coming fast and slightly jumbled, "But I want a Student-Teacher Oath that you won't share anything with anyone."

Snape raised his eyebrow and set his quill down; _what in Merlin's beard had the little chit gotten herself into now?_

"It's important," Hermione assured him, seeing his look and Snape sighed as he pulled his wand out. _She probably knows I can't deny her request_, he thought, f_igures that the little know-it-all would have read Hogwarts A History too many times. _It would have been an understatement to say he was surprised that she'd come to him though; why _him_ of all people? Albus, or surely Minerva, even Poppy would have been a more obvious pick. Why him?

_Merlin, what if she's pregnant and needs a potion?_ he suddenly thought, his gaze flying to the gap in her robes where her simple school-issued dress shirt lay tucked primly into the waistband of her skirt, _if she is, at least she's not showing yet…_ Snape could have cringed at the thought of a little Weasley or Potter on the way but he forced himself to betray none of his thoughts.

Snape regarded her stonily for a second and then, with a small flick of his wand, had the classroom door properly locked and warded. Not seeing the point of dancing around things, Snape reluctantly began…

"I, Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, do so solemnly swear to uphold the sacred bond of student and teacher by pledging that anything said in my confidence shall stay there unless specifically released by its rightful owner or in the case of said information being of mortal danger to its owner."

The slight golden glow emitted by Snape's wand told him the Oath had been accepted and he saw some of the visible tension recede out of the young witch's shoulders.

"Perhaps, Miss Granger, you would like to explain what this is all about?" he demanded, his patience rapidly coming to an end. He had no time for the frivolous grievances of adolescent witches and—

"I can feel your pain," Hermione blurted out, her words rushing forward like a dam that had suddenly burst, "The Headmaster said there might be some sort of side effect of the Binding but I didn't think it'd be anything like this. At first I thought they were just random; little pains in my hands and shoulders. But then today when you got cut, I could _feel_ the glass in my hand, Professor and—"

"Miss Granger, stop this incoherent babble at once!" Snape commanded, pushing himself away from his desk with a loud screech of his stair. He was in no mood for patience, if what he understood from her was true… Sweeping around to other side of table, Snape impatiently forced her chin up and delved mercilessly into her mind. He felt her sudden jerk of surprise and then the weak patter of resistance as her mind tried to expel him from her thoughts but it was useless; he was an expert Legilimens – she a seventeen year old student. Concentrating, Snape shifted through the memories of the past week, images flashing through her mind, each adding a piece to the puzzle…

Snape felt cold tendril of horror clutch in his gut, she had _no idea_ what this could mean for her, this couldn't be happening… And yet, with each instance of the Binding's linked pain Snape felt his disbelief fade and slowly be replaced with dread. _Merlin help us…_

The last memory, of Miss Granger's sudden burning pain down her right thigh had Snape convinced. When in the storeroom a couple day ago, he'd accidentally knocked over an open jar of Nivisa Acid; nasty stuff, burned a hole right through his pants. Adrenalin pumping through his veins, Snape jerked unceremoniously out of Hermione's mind and she swayed a little on her feet.

"You stupid, stupid little chit!" he raged through gritted teeth as he grabbed her roughly by the arm and began walking towards to the fireplace, "How could you not notice this sooner?! Do you have any idea what would have happened to you if I were summoned?! Do you?!"

"What are you doing?" Hermione said panicky, breaking out of her surprised daze to try and pull away, "Let go of me! Where do you think we're going?!"

"To the Headmaster, of course," Snape replied acerbically, "With any luck he'll be able to reverse the bonding tonight. Idiot girl…"

"No!" Hermione protested, wrenching her arm free of his grasp, "We can't do that! What about Harry's lessons? He won't be protected from Voldemort without the Binding's protection!"

Snape scoffed angrily – ah yes, precious Potter. Spinning around, Snape gripped the much narrower shoulders of the young woman in front of him and bent his head close enough to smell the soft, fruity scent she wore. It was not a smell that would mix well with blood…

"Listen to me very carefully, Miss Granger," he hissed, "you have no idea what kind of pain awaits you should you leave this Binding intact—"

"I can handle it—"

"**Do not presume to tell me what you can and cannot handle, Miss Granger!** As if you have any experience to make such a statement," Snape yelled at her, the sudden demonstration of rage causing a fearful shudder to run down the young witch's spine.

"I'm not going to reverse it," Hermione whispered, her voice shaky but the words themselves firm and unmistakable, "I'm not going to let Harry go into battle unprepared and vulnerable. He's my friend, I won't do that to him. If anything, I thought _you_ at least would understand the importance – the necessity, of this."

Snape shut his eyes as an unforeseen slash of hurt went through him at her words; did she honestly think him capable of allowing her to be tortured so mercilessly. Did she really think him so heartless? Yes, he could see the necessity of it, but…it wasn't right, it wasn't humane, _it wasn't her place._ She didn't belong in a world of secrets and anguish, no, that was his domain, anyone who looked in her golden speckled eyes could have told you that.

_She doesn't understand what she's getting herself into_, he thought as he gazed down at her through a curtain of silky, black hair. _She doesn't understand…so I'll have to show her._

For the second time that day, Snape reached down and grasped Hermione's chin firmly in his calloused hand. "You think you can _handle it_, as you so eloquently put it, Miss Granger?" he said, his voice sending chills down her neck, "Tell me, have you ever screamed to the point where you've lost your voice?" At this, Snape saw the first streak of fear go through her eyes and Hermione tried to turn her head away but he wouldn't allow it; she needed to hear this and he was going to tell her.

"Have you ever thought that you would die from lack of oxygen because there was too much blood clogging your throat?" He could see the effect his harshly whispered words were having on her but he didn't stop. "Have you ever feared that you would never be able to feel your legs again or use you arms because they've been so horrible mangled you can no longer recognize them?" Snape saw the tightening of the young woman's jaw as the images he painted flashed through her mind; _good…she needs to understand._ "Tell me, Miss Granger, have you ever wished you were dead? Just to stop the pain, just for it to end, have you ever begged someone to end your life for you?"

Snape watched with cruel indifference as the tell-tale wetness of tears appeared in the witch's eyes. "Stop it!" she cried, giving up all pretenses as she pushed against his immovable chest, "I'm trying to do what's right! Why can't you just respect that?! Yes, okay, it won't be easy! I get it! But that doesn't mean I'm going to run away like some kind of coward! You can either help me get through or you can just fuck off, _Sir,_because I'm not going to Dumbledore and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Taken back, Snape was unprepared for the sudden angry shove of her arms and he lost his grip on the young witch's robes.

_She's serious, _he realized, stunned nearly to the point of speechlessness. This little witch, this chit of a Gryffindor, had more backbone than he'd seen on many a grown wizard. It didn't make her any less foolish, but Snape felt something akin to respect settle in his chest. _Brave, silly little girl…you have no idea. _

Shaking his head, Snape straightened, a hand running once through his hair in exasperation. "Very well, Miss Granger," he said finally, his voice breaking the silence of the room, "It seems we're at an impasse. I can not break my oath, and your vaunted Gryffindor stubbornness is getting in the way of your common sense." Hermione started to protest but he cut her off. "You do realize that nobody outside those who participated in the Binding may know of this?"

Hermione nodded weakly.

"And how do you propose you hide this little secret?" he asked snidely.

"I'm sure you're aware I'm Head Girl this year," she responded, her hands fidgeting, "I have my own rooms, perhaps if I tell everyone I'm not feeling well and ward the door…"

"I will likely be summoned tonight," Snape said suddenly, gauging her reaction. She blanched horribly and Snape sneered in morbid satisfaction, "There's still time, if you got to the Headmaster now…"

"No." She'd dropped her gaze but Snape could see determination shining in her eyes. _Damn her…_

"Fine," Snape spat, turning away with a sweeping motion of his robes; the hell if he was going to stand here and have this discussion with the little Gryffindor princess. _She'll know soon enough…come tonight she'll be begging to have the Binding reversed. _"If that's all, Miss Granger," he said, his voice still dripping with venom, "I have things to be done." Dismissal was obviously in his tone.

For a second, the girl just stood there as if on the verge of saying something else but then, with a shake of her head, Snape watched as she turned away to fetch her things.

"Oh, and Miss Granger," Snape said as she reached the door, his eyes like stone as they met her gaze, "Do remember to add soundproofing to your wards, no need to wake the school with your screams tonight I should think."

He knew it was purposefully cruel, that it would hurt and scare her but maybe it would show her just how cold the reality of it was. She shouldn't have any illusions, for illusions only shatter in time. As predicted, Snape's remark was met with an almost unperceivable flinch and stony silence shortly followed by the slam of the dungeon door. She was angry at him. Weariness suddenly washing over him, Snape slumped into his chair and cradled his head in his hands. How had she expected him to act? A 'good job' and a pat on the head? _Merlin, help me,_ he pleaded silently.

Outside in the hallway, Hermione dug the heel of her palm hard against her eyes in an attempt to rid herself the sudden pesky stinging of unshed tears. _Bastard_, she thought, her steps quickening. No, she hadn't expected him to hug her and tell her everything would be okay, but to be honest with herself, she never expected him to be so callously harsh in his reaction. _I'm trying to protect Harry, and help the Order. I just wanted a little...understanding? indulgence? reassurance that she was doing the right thing?_ Snape had offered her nothing. Shaking her head and suddenly feeling very sick, Hermione wished she'd never approached the dark Potions Master.

**_,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-._**

**Hm…exciting chapter eleven for sure. Even ****_I'm_**** anxious. And the sadistic cliffhanger appears once more! **

**So I'm very curious to see what readers thought of the whole potions class/Snape and Hermione scene. I thought about having a long, drawn out multiple-chapter angle where Hermione ****_discovers_**** the effects of the bond but, in the end, I thought readers would appreciate the story moving at a faster pace. So, I'm sorry if it seems a little rushed. Tell me what you thought. **

**REVIEW! I LIKE TO KNOW WHAT YOU'RE ALL THINKING! Oh, plus I'm ****_really_**** curious as to how you think the next chapter will/should go. I have an idea.****WARNING:**** Very probable torture the next chapter. **

**_Review, damn you. I know you're out there! _**


	11. Warm Silk

**First – gah! Sorry for the wait. I have put all my excuses at the bottom of the chapter. Also, ha – sorry if I didn't review reply. I usually try to reply to most of my reviews. I'll probably get on that now…**

**NOTE: Yes, I know about Hermione's birthday! I'm just a control freak and decided to change it! **

**SHOUTOUTS: FIRST TO ALL MY REVIEWS, ESPECIALLY MY REGUALRS. Yes, I do keep track of you and I know which ones of you have been reviewing the entire story. Screw muses, I got you guys. I WAS SO CLOSE TO BREAKING MY RECOND – 2 reviews away?! 2 reviews!! Uhh, it broke my heart. Also, ****special shoutout:**

**LN1991 – ****I laughed when I read your review; which, by the way, was rather awkward considering I was sitting in an empty room… **

**The-G-Factor**** – I'll be blunt (I'm very good at that). I was flattered – very much so, actually. Thank you. **

**GiggleGinny**** – As you wish. 'M' rating is dedicated to GiggleGinny. Good suggestion, hope you enjoy!**

**And my usual thanks to you people who have followed me around since I started writing (you know who you are) this chapter is dedicated to you. ****  
**

**WARNING: Torture. **

_CHAPTER ELEVEN -- _

Snape stood silent and waiting as the crescent moon rose high in the chilly winter sky. The Dark Lord had switched meetings spots once again and Snape found himself Apparating to a small, hidden alcove that lay deserted along some barren coastline. He didn't know which coast, nor even which ocean for that matter, but he could only assume the Dark Lord was slowly making his way towards Thorn Castle.

Earlier that week, Snape had followed Dumbledore's instruction and begun researching everything there was to know about the Dark Lord's new mysterious home. In reality, the mighty Thorn Castle was actually more of a highly fortified Keep which lay on the isolated and unplottable island of Velitine. The Keep had been the ancestral home of a certain_ Bevausee_ family for generations but had fallen into disuse after a freak storm ravaged the island – effectively dismantling much of the building structure and leaving the tower in disrepair. Snape could only guess that the Dark Lord planned on restoring the Keep to its former glory and continuing his campaign from behind its thick, stone walls.

Snape shifted his stance and then scowled as the sand beneath his feet caused his boots to sink into the soft ground; Merlin, how he hated the beach. He could hear the faint sound of waves breaking in the distance and the rustle of heavy cloaks in the wind but beyond that, there was only silence. The sudden sharp sound of a wolf howl abruptly cut through the shroud of darkness and Snape felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle._They've arrived…_

Dark figures slowly emerged from the surrounding dunes; the hunched, crouching bodies of the werewolf packs becoming visible in the moonlight. Snape tighten his grip on his wand as the lumbering creatures neared, but before he had reason to draw, the majority of the pack stopped to allow three lone figures entrance to the circle. These walked on two feet…

"Fenrir," came the purring voice of the Dark Lord from his place in the center of the circle and Snape watched as the tallest of the men dropped rather ungracefully to his knees to kiss the hem of his master's robes.

"Master, it has been so long."

The serpentine man raised a pale hand and wordlessly gestured for the lower ranking Death Eaters to light the circle. Immediately, the barren landscape was bathed in a haunting orange and crimson glow – the shadows cast by the torches dancing chillingly in the cold sand.

"Indeed it has," the Dark Lord replied, his slit-like eyes flaring up in delight.

_This must be the 'guest' the Dark Lord spoke of,_ Snape realized, taking in the hulking beast of a man that knelt submissively before his master. True to his reputation, Fenrir Greyback sported a mane of shaggy silver hair that gleamed in the light and his teeth seemed bared even when he spoke. Snape knew that, if they did so choose, werewolves could morph into their beast form at any given time; only during the full moon was the change involuntary. Judging from Greyback's obvious discomfort in his body and the awkward jerks of his movements, Snape was willing to bet galleons the alpha male had been spending more time as beast than man.

"As you instructed, the majority of my pack has moved just north of the Forbidden Forest, my Lord," Greyback said, his voice gruff with disuse, "They only await your command."

Snape felt some of the pieces of the puzzle fall into place at the man's words. _So Dumbledore's suspicions were correct_, he mused, his observant eyes taking in everything, _the werewolves have joined with the Dark Lord, just as they did twenty years ago… perhaps the old man did have some forethought – who better to fight a werewolf than its natural enemy – the vampires. But taking up residence in the Forbidden Forest? It's madness for another clan to embark on centaur territory and clan war is nothing pretty. What is the Dark Lord up to?_

The ragged man soon rose from his kneeling position and, with a final bow of respect, moved to take his place in the circle next to Snape. The second Greyback came within seven feet of the Potions Master, Snape could smell the scent of blood, carnage, and dirt on the werewolf and it took all of Snape's willpower not to wrinkle his nose in distain.

"Severus," a cool voice suddenly called and Snape raised his eyes to meet the crimson ones of his master. Snape could feel the dark, creeping tendril of the Dark Lord's magic rapidly shoot through his mind – tearing through memories and thoughts alike for anything of use. Snape stilled the urge to wrench his eyes away, to fight back against the rape of his subconscious, but instead focused on the things he knew were safe; classes, potions, lectures, detention…the list went on.

It was a familiar process - one Snape suffered through at the start of every new school year. Voldemort would sort through his mind; familiarizing himself with the new teachers and different classes, the fresh meat of the tiny first years and the potential usefulness of the seventh years, the faces Snape saw and the voices he heard – all were information for the Dark Lord. _Know thy enemy_; the Slytherin had learned that particular proverb all too well.

Carefully shielding Miss Granger's visit from the Dark Lord's prying eyes, Snape gave free rein over the rest of his first day of classes; the commencing of the Sorting, the welcome feast, his traditional first year speech and dramatic entrance, Mr. Still's incompetence in Potions – all replayed in Snape's mind. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Snape felt the violating presence of his master leave his mind and the Potion Master let out an invisible breath of relief. Voldemort had seen nothing – or at least nothing important.

"Very good," the Dark Lord hissed, his voice like icy tentacles down Snape's spine. "You have done well, Severus, Dumbledore suspects nothing. I commend you. I have something to discuss with you later, Severus, but for now, enjoy the evening." Turning away with a flourish of his robes, the Dark Lord moved to the center of the circle and addressed the congregation of hooded figures.

"Welcome, my children," he began softly, his voice carrying eerily in the breeze, "Our brothers from the North have journeyed far to honor us here tonight with their presence" – he gestured to the three werewolves positioned around the circle, who in turn, each bowed respectively – "for tonight we celebrate the beginning of an alliance that is sure to assist us in our endeavors. I bid you to welcome our new comrades, for though they may be of tainted blood, they have proven themselves both loyal and capable in the eyes of your master. I accept them as my own."

To Snape's left, a dignified figure stepped forward into the light and the orange glow shimmered brilliantly off his flowing mane of nearly white hair.

"Let me be the first to welcome you to our ranks, Death Eater Greyback," Lucius said smoothly, though Snape could see the tell-tale twitch of his right cheek that signaled the wizard was lying through his teeth. _Of course Lucius would be the first to kiss up to the master's new pet_, Snape thought as he watched the werewolf accept Lucius's welcome with a vague nod of his head.

Soon, the occupants of the circle were exchanging nods and greetings – some more warmly than others, and Snape watched curiously as Greyback beckoned the two werewolves he had brought with him to his side.

"This is Razorclaw, my second in command," he said, gesturing to the much smaller man who had his curling black mane pulled back by a simple leather thong. "He took his Mark at the same time as I, but Wetblood here—" Greyback grunted towards a strapping youth in his early twenties with long, tanned muscular arms and an excitement in his eyes – "has not yet had the privilege. I told his it was much too soon but—"

"Well, we shall have to see, shan't we?" the Dark Lord interrupted, his crimson eyes eagerly devouring the youth with an unveiled lust that made Snape's stomach turn. With each Horcrux they destroyed, it seemed the Dark Lord gained more and more of his human qualities – the growing pigment of his once translucent skin, the open displays of sudden emotion, and as the months passed on, an increasing interest in his more…sadistic pleasures.

"I have waited for months, Master," the youth cried, falling to the ground to prostrate himself before the Dark Lord, "I only ask for a chance, my Lord, to show my strength – my loyalty. I beseech you, Master; please allow me the chance to earn the right to bear your Mark. I would not fail you…"

The Dark Lord's hand rose to slowly caress the bronze locks of Wetblood's bowed head as he considered the request. Snape could almost see the twisted delight the Dark Lord took in having such control over another human – or nonhuman – being; the power, the control, it was sick…and seductive – a feeling of euphoria that fed even the blackest of hearts. Voldemort thrived on it.

"Very well," the Dark Lord finally hissed, his thin, bloodless lips twisting into a gruesome representation of a smile. Without warning, his alabaster hand suddenly grasped a thick handful of the young man's tangled hair and jerked the werewolf's head up till their eyes met. Madness met fear, and Snape could have sworn he heard the frantic beating of the youth's panicking heart. _How touching, the boy didn't know what the Dark Lord did to his initiates…_

"_Crucio."_

Ripping screams suddenly filled the cold air, the night now heavy with the tainted sound as it echoed into the nothingness. _It's probably his first Crucio_, Snape thought dispassionately, watching as the youthful body jerked desperately in the dark master's ruthless grip. A few Death Eaters started cheering around the circle, some calling out to the Dark Lord to go harder – for it was obvious he was holding back – other taunting the boy as his muscle structure was mangled from the inside out.

The unbidden image of Miss Granger suddenly filled his eyes – sobbing heedlessly, bucking in pain, begging – and Snape brutally tried to push the thought out of his head. He had been trying the entire meeting to keep his nagging apprehension at bay, but now, as the evening silence was broken in choked sobs and hoarse gasps, Snape had to swallow hastily to loosen the sudden tightness in his throat.

_There's always a chance he won't curse you tonight_, the little-used optimistic part of his mind said, and Snape immediately crushed that hope. He knew what the Dark Lord would want to discuss – Potter's Occulmency lessons, or rather, the lack of them. Snape knew he could tell him that they weren't due to start till next Thursday, but that wouldn't matter. He would be displeased, and pain was always a compliment to his displeasure.

Eventually, the cries died down and Snape found himself studying the young man closer than he had before, unconsciously wondering if Miss Granger's reaction would be similar. _He didn't even use his full power,_ a voice reminded him, and Snape felt another stone drop in his gut,_ he wouldn't want to damage his little boy toys…but you, no, you are durable, you have a high tolerance for pain, and he knows it. He will not hold back for you, he never does…_

Wetblood, as fit his namesake, was currently vomiting red onto the white sand; his heaving gasps the only sound as the jeering died down.

"Now, Wetblood, you have had a taste of what it means to be called a Death Eater – do you still yearn for my Mark?" The Dark Lord slowly circled the shaking youth, his walk every bit that of the predator toying wit his prey. "Answer me boy, _do you still want it?"_

"Yes," the crippled figure gasped, his voice barely more than a harsh whisper as his raw throat scratched and pulsed in pain, "Always."

The circle was now dead silent; this was a ritual they had all been through. The Dark Lord would test their pain, and by association, their alliance – if you tried to fight back, you died. If you tried to protest, you died. If you tried to run, you died. You could beg, scream, cry, curse, faint, even piss yourself – but as long as you took it, you earned your Mark. The werewolf had earned his Mark.

With a graceful hand, Voldemort raised the ebony wood of his wand and then, with abrupt strength and speed, brought it down with enough force to puncture the skin of the werewolf's left forearm. Wetblood's choked scream went unnoticed as the ring of Death Eaters saw the black poison of the Dark Lord's ink slowly spread beneath the skin. Ink and blood, black and crimson, master and servant; they were tied. Breathing rather unevenly, Snape watched as the Dark Lord released the youth – his body slumping to the ground, too weak to even hold himself in a kneeling position as the Cruciatus spasms began.

The Dark Lord chuckled softly, a booted foot appearing from beneath his robes to kick the young man's body onto his back.

"Welcome, my child."

Wetblood's whimper was his only response.

The rest of the meeting went by in a blur for Snape, sweat dripping unnoticed down his back in anticipation of the 'lesson' he was sure to come. On one level, he wished he could have claimed to have only been worried for himself, but the truth of it was, Miss Granger's eyes flashed through his mind more often than not.

_Little twit_, he thought, mentally cursing her once again as the meeting drew to a close, _of all the bull-headed, crackpot, mindless, ignorant, hair-brain, __Gryffindor__ schemes—_

"Severus."

The Potions Master looked up at the breathy tone, his depthless eyes of ebony locking with scarlet slits.

"Come, Severus, I have much to discuss with you."

_Merlin, help her…_ The words echoed in Snape's subconscious as he obediently stepped forward.

Two hours later, Severus stumbled through his private entryway into his parlor; the pounding in his head only comparable to the dread in his gut. Clenching his hand into a fist as a small yet effective spasm quaked through him, Snape stepped unceremoniously up to the fire and tossed an impatient handful of floo powder into the flame.

"The Head Girl's room," he said clearly, grinding his teeth in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over his body. He felt dehydrated and dizzy, achy and throbbing in pain, his eyes begging to simply slide close and slip unhindered into welcome sleep. And yet he couldn't; not without first checking in on his involuntary charge.

_Maybe she's sleeping…_ a voice mused as Snape entered the darkened quarters of the Head Girl rooms, _your spasms are nearly gone…perhaps she has a higher threshold for pain that you give her credit for._ But Snape shook his head inwardly at the thought; she was a young woman, barely grown into her wand yet. The worst pain she'd ever experienced had probably been that little knick from Lucius at Potter's coming-of-age party…and even then she'd been unconscious from blood loss half the time. No, she was in pain, and, if Snape's intuition was right, not coping with it well at all…

Snape abruptly caught the faint glow of light shining from underneath an arching doorway and quickly headed towards it, muttering hastily under his breath in rapid succession as he ruthlessly unraveled the heavily interlaced wards that guarded the door. He'd have to find a way to bypass those in the future…

Finally safe to approach, Snape anxiously opened the door and quickly swept through, the swish of his heavy robes stirring the stale air. As always, the first thing that registered in Snape's mind was the smell; vomit, sweat, blood, and something subtly fruity in scent. He'd been right; they did not mix well.

The sound of fast, erratic breathing echoed softly off the marble fixtures of the bathroom, and Snape quickly spied the huddled figure of Miss Granger slumped boneless against the opposite side of the toilet; her arms wrapped in a death grip around her rib cage and her eyes closed in near-delirious exhaustion. Steeping closer, Snape realized it must be worse than it seemed, she hadn't so much as flutter an eyelash at his deliberately loud steps.

Bending down beside her, Snape did a quick analysis of the witch's condition; her night clothes were damp with sweat, her hair a hopeless mass of tangles, the violent shivering of her shoulders even as drips of perspiration slid down her cheek. No, she did not _handle it_ well at all; how could she?

"Miss Granger," Snape said tightly, resisting the urge to simply grab the self-sacrificing little twit and shake her till she regained some sense. "Miss Granger, open your eyes this instant."

There was a sudden tensing of the girl's face as she jerked in surprise, shortly followed by the delicate fluttering of eyelashes as they flickered open. Snape stayed silent as her almond eyes took in his crouched position, the signature black robes of his Death Eater attire pooled heavily around him, and the smell of blood and sand in the air. Wetblood had not been the only entertainment that night…the Werewolves had brought gifts.

"How can you stand it?" the witch managed to whisper, her voice raw – Snape didn't want to think about how it got that way.

_Probably screaming_, the impassionate part of him supplied and Snape hid a grimace.

"I have to," the Potion Master responded emptily.

The witch looked like she was about to ask another question – for she was forever asking questions – when a small sound escaped her lips moments before she clamped them tight and turned her head away, her body curling inward unto itself as a spasm worked its way down her spine. Snape forced himself to watch as a tear ran unnoticed down her cheek – one of many, he was sure – and her arms tightened into an almost impossible grip around her midsection.

"Let it go," Snape said, his monotone voice never betraying the slow unraveling of his nerves as he cursed himself for not finding a way to spare her this; there had to be a better way. The dark man paused for a moment, waiting for the loosening of her muscles that would allow the spasm to pass through. It didn't come.

"Miss Granger," he said, louder this time, "You must let the spasm run its course, tensing your muscles will only serve to make the process much more painful and lengthy than it need be. Now, _let go._"

A ragged breath sobbed out of the young woman in front of Snape, and he suddenly realized her spasms seemed to be much more violent than his own dying tremors.

_Perhaps these spasms are her own body's reaction to the curse and not a product of my own pain_, he thought, his mind working fast as it broke down all the information he had on the Cruciatus. The spasms were not a result of the curse – that much he knew – but instead they were rather the body's compensation to the _pain.  
_

_She's bearing both my reaction to the pain, __and__ her own, _he realized, feeling sick as he watched the narrow shoulders of the witch's smaller frame shake and tremble, _the tremors must be agony…_

"Miss Granger!" Snape hissed, not bothering to keep the intensity out of his voice, "Listen to me! I know you're in pain but you need to regain the control over your muscles or the spasms may become too much for your body. Listen, you foolish little girl, control you reaction and let the pain move through you!"

Hermione wanted to scream at him that she was trying but all she could focus on was the pain – it hurt more than she'd ever imagined, ever _could_ have imagined. It robbed her of her breath and made her gasping pants echo in her clouded mind. She could vaguely feel the cold of the icy, stone floor seeping through her thin pajamas and the soft light emitted from a single floating candle, but beyond that, there was only the searing white hot pain that she had cried through for Merlin knows how long.

She could her Snape's voice rising and unconsciously shied away from it; she didn't want to be yelled at, or told how hopelessly stupid this plan was, she just wanted him to leave – let her lick her wounds in private away form prying eyes that saw too much. _Just go._

Turning her head resolutely away from the increasingly irate man before her, Hermione tried to forcefully loosen the tightly knotted muscles of her shoulders; inch by inch, working to match her breathing with her heartbeat.

_Breathe in…and out…breathe in…and out_, the mantra played over and over in her head and, for a bit, the muscles of her body slowly unraveled. Hermione marveled at how disgustingly weak her body felt after she'd loosened the muscles up but then realized that she'd been clenching them almost nonstop for the past few hours…it was no wonder it felt as though someone had taken her body and stretched it like putty.

"Keep going," a familiar voice growled from next to her, and Hermione gathered her energy just enough to peek her eyes open and look at the stony Potions Master. _He looks the same_; Hermione's first thought was, strangely furious that he seemed completely unaffected by what ever pain was ravaging her body._ Doesn't he feel this…? Merlin, how can he stand it…every week…sometimes more…how does he still manage to possess his sanity? I-I'm not sure I can do this…_

_But you have to!_ Another voice in Hermione's mind piped up, _what of Harry? There's no other way. He'd always been there for you, Hermione, you know he had – sometimes he was the _**_only_**_ one. What kind of friend would you be if you were not willing to protect him? What kind of Gryffindor? You should be ashamed for even considering giving up…_

And Hermione was. Shame that she was sitting curled up and weak, shame that she couldn't seem to handle the pain like Professor Snape did, shame that she felt so fragile and sick and scared – all of it rushed through her. She hated it.

"You're not concentrating!" a sharp voice suddenly snapped, interrupting Hermione's thoughts.

"I'm trying!" she managed to resort heatedly, another unidentifiable sound escaping her lips as her muscle structure was brutally mangled.

"Well then try harder!"

Hermione tightened her grip around her middle, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip in an attempt not to cry…or scream. She could almost _feel_ the curse as it twisted through her – neck, shoulders, back, thighs, calves, all the way down to her toes. For Hermione, the pain seemed to center in her upper extremities rather than her lower ones, and she hissed in pain as agony pooled in the delicate muscles of her forearm and then palm. She balled her hand into a fist.

Hermione didn't know how long into the night her spasms lasted, only that Snape's comments seemed to lose more and more patience with each phrase – if he had any patience to begin with, that is. He didn't touch her, though part of Hermione screamed for something – someone – _anyone_ to hang onto, and after a while, he silently moved form his crouched position to stand over her; reeking of superiority and dominance._ Damn it, she didn't need an instructor! She needed a…comrade, a partner, an ally, a companion, a __friend_! Snape had made it quite clear that he filled none of those positions.

After a particularly biting comment about her lack of self control, Hermione found herself screaming at him – all her hurt and anger and fear incarnating itself in the only form she knew how.

"That's it!" she yelled, pushing herself to her feet through sheer will power and adrenaline. "I've had enough of being yelled at! Being insulted! Leave! Just get the hell out! I wish I'd never come to you for your help! You obviously don't know what the word 'comfort' or 'reassurance' means, much less simple kindness! I want you to get out! Just forget I even spoke to you! Just _go!"_

Snape was taken aback at the sudden verbal attack; this little slip of a witch actually possessed the audacity to try and _order_ him to leave? Had it been another time and place, Snape would have sneered, but for now he could only watch with veiled awe as the young witch yelled at him – her body braced unsteadily against the wall, her simple, red satin pajamas wrinkled beyond belief, her mass of riotous curls that fell in front of glaring, yet not completely focused, eyes. Snape knew he'd been goading her the last hour – little insults and pricks to make her try harder, to _focus,_ but it had worked hadn't it? She'd gotten to the point where she could control her muscles for about three out of every ten seconds – it wasn't much, but it would have to do, for now.

Snape stayed perfectly silent as the little witch eventually ran out of stream, her breaths coming once again in uneven pants and her eyes going in and out of focus with each breath.

"P-please," she nearly begged, her head falling back to lean against the cold stone wall as a hot bead of sweat slid down her slim neck. "Just go. I-I don't feel very well."

The understatement of the century, no doubt.

Without another sign, the young witch's knees buckled and Snape barely managed to catch the witch around the middle before she crashed to the ground. Knowing the signs, the Potion Master hastily lowered the young Gryffindor down next to the toilet moments before she retched into the bowl; the sounds and smells of vomit once again coating the bathroom air. As dispassionately as he could, Snape reached up and gathered the sick girl's hair out of her face, his other arm slipping unconsciously around her ribcage to support her.

"Easy, Miss Granger," he said lowly, his voice sounding like warm silk to Hermione's drugged mind. _He should talk like that more often…_

Snape waited patiently for the witch's heaves to slowly die down to soft trembles; her body still twitching occasionally from the aftershocks of the curse. _There is a damn good reason that curse was Unforgivable… _

"You're hurting me," Hermione mumbled softly, her eyes closing and her body simply giving into exhaustion as she leaned back against the Professor's chest. She could feel one of his heavily robes arms wrapped tightly around her middle, the supporting arm rubbing up against her sore ribs. She probably shouldn't have held herself so hard… the utterly appalled shock that would have regularly swept through her was effectively dulled as her physical, mental, and emotional capacities shut down.

Snape sighed as he felt the young woman go limp in his arms; at least she'd managed to wait until the spasms were done working their way through her body before she collapsed. If she'd fainted while she'd been here alone…Snape shivered; the effects could have been disastrous. Some people thought blacking out from pain was merciful, a natural escape from reality's tortures – but nothing escapes the Cruciatus. If you were unfortunate to black out during a bout of Cruciatus…your body becomes an instrument of the curse while your mind is virtually useless in its unconscious state. The body instinctively tries to fight back against the pain, run away from it, _anything _to stop it. Even tear it out.

A shame the curse originates from the inside of a person's body…

Without an active mind working, the body can do horrible things to itself. Snape didn't think Moody ever forgave himself for his eye…

Shaking himself from his memories, Snape tiredly rose from the floor, the little know-it-all curled snuggly into the curve of his chest as his weary muscles protested with every minute movement. Oh, how he longed for sleep… Walking back into the darkened bedroom, Snape navigated himself blindly to the side of the bed; briefly considering changing the sleeping witch's stiff pajamas for a fresh pair before he dismissed the idea. He'd be lucky if he could manage a proper Lumos with his state of fatigue.

Awkwardly tucking her in, Snape allowed himself an unhurried look at the stubborn witch who had plagued his thoughts all evening. _She really is a brave little thing_, he admitted grudgingly, _though I can't see how Potter ensues such a sense of loyalty in people. She really would do anything for the boy…not that he deserves it, of course._ Snape wondered what it was like to have someone care that much about you, but then he caught himself and scowled; not that he would ever know.

Rising to his feet, Snape quickly scribbled a short letter to Miss Granger before heading towards the fireplace. This arrangement of her hiding out in her bathroom every time he was summoned wasn't going to work, it was time to switch to more…Slytherin tactics – after all, those were the best kind. With a final glance to the slumbering witch, Snape disappeared into the Floo; he would have a surprise for Miss Granger in the morning – hopefully one that would suit both their needs…

**This chapter was written to 'Why Don't You and I' by Santana and 'Take On Me' by Ah Ha. God…I swear I was born out of my decade (century?). **

**MY EXCUSES: **

**In other news, my birthday was this week. I was kidnapped - no laptop - no writing.  
**

**In more interesting news (for me) I have a new beau. I'm infatuated; he has a roman numeral in his name. What can I say? I'm a sucker for the roman numerals, those premature grey streaks, and men who will write me a letter instead of an e-mail. Anyway, what I'm getting at is that my weekends may be filled with a little more than fanfiction so…sorry? **

**THANKS FOR ALL THE WONDERFULLY ENCOURAGING WORDS AND I REALLY HOPE YOU CONTINUE TO KEPP UP WITH THE STORY! I'm still trying to beat that pesky record…seriously, it's been standing for like 3 months?! It's going down…**

**_Review damn you, I know you're there…_**** hey, it worked last time……-**


	12. Elderberry

** didn't beat my record..._agian?!_ Well that was a let-down... I'm hoping to break 200 this round... hopefully.  
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**_Wow, new document uploading software. I was so excited when I saw that. Of course, then I actually used it and IT ABSOLUTLY SUCKS. Everything starts off in boLd, I can't do my little page break doodles, and apparently it doesn't like my page margins... AHHHH! Plus no symbols...my world has ended. So, for those who actually read my enlightening author notes, I'm sorry I have not updated in like...a month-ish? Yeah, I suck, I know. My usual excuses are at the bottom. Enjoy! UNBETAED!  
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Awkwardly tucking her in, Snape allowed himself an unhurried look at the stubborn witch who's plagued his thoughts all evening. _She really is a brave little thing_, he admitted grudgingly, _though I can't see how Potter ensues such a sense of loyalty in people. She really would do anything for the boy…not that he deserves it, of course._ Snape wondered what it was like to have someone care that much about you, but then he caught himself and scowled; not that he would ever know.

Rising to his feet, Snape quickly scribbled a short letter to Miss Granger before heading towards the fireplace. This arrangement of her hiding out in her bathroom every time he was summoned wasn't going to work, it was time to switch to more…Slytherin tactics – after all, those were the best kind. With a final glance to the slumbering witch, Snape disappeared into the Floo; he would have a surprise for Miss Granger in the morning – hopefully one that would suit both their needs…

_**CHAPTER TWELVE:**_

A pale scintilla of bleak morning light slipped through a gap in crimson curtains and Hermione moaned painfully in her sleep as dawn's rays shone heavily on her sensitive eyes. Rolling carefully onto her back and flinging a limp arm across her face, Hermione's mind slowly became aware of every ache, sting, and hurt that her body pulsed with.

_Pacing the length of the bathroom…waiting…waiting_... Hermione fought to remember the night before as she reemerged from her foggy slumber. The pain had hit her like the club of a troll – agony shooting through her as she keeled over, gripping her stomach desperately as she slid to the cold tile floor. Hermione vaguely recalled vomiting up what little dinner she managed to eat but the memory itself felt as though a layer of hazy cloud had been laid over it – the whole experience seeming surreal in retrospect.

Sweat, vomit, the tiniest bit of blood she had coughed up – the overlapping smells had assaulted her senses and made her stomach roll dangerously for hours.

_And the pain..._ It had been nearly unbearable.

There'd been fear too, as much as Hermione wanted to deny it, she had been scared – in pain and confused, sitting alone in a deserted bathroom where no one would ever find her. The single candle that had been her only source of light had been none too reassuring to say the least.

Hermione clenched her eyes shut as more memories flooded back. _Snape, _she remembered with a start, _Snape was there…he was tense…and angry…and yelling at me. _Hermione felt horror flood through her as she thought about what he'd seen; for Merlin sakes, she'd cried.

Well, not cried parse…more…_whimpered_ than anything else.

_Bloody hell..._

If Hermione had the energy to cringe, she was sure she would of, but as it were, the young witch could only lay pale and drained as humiliation, dismay, and apprehension swept through her.

_Merlin, what was I thinking? Asking __Snape __to be my fallback? And now he probably thinks I'm weak and pathetic… _Hermione could see his signature sneer of contempt as he stood over her. _Bloody hell, __did I faint in front of him too?_If possible, the stone in Hermione's gut sunk lower. _But the pain…how could I have possibly prepared for __that?!__ And he bears this every week… How can he get up in the morning knowing only that it will end in this?! Merlin…I never knew…no one really does…_

Hermione tried to shallow the tightness in her throat but winced as the saliva scrapped over raw skin; was there anywhere that did not hurt…? Noticing the gradual rise of the sun, Hermione sighed – as much as she wanted to stay in bed and hide under the covers where it was warm and dark and safe, she knew she had to get up.

_Honestly, it's only the second day of school. How would it look if the Head Girl wasn't in class? _Decision made, Hermione hazardously pulled herself up to a sitting position with the help of one of the bed posts.

_Merlin, it hurts…_

Gritting her teeth, she urged her body into a standing position, pausing momentary to see if her legs would support her weight, and then giving a sigh of relief as they held. Walking, a bid a little more stiffly than usual, Hermione headed towards her bathroom and began cautiously undressing for her morning shower; her hands involuntary trembling despite the witch's efforts.

By chance, Hermione caught the fleeting sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror and abruptly wrenched her head away in shock; effectively straining the delicate muscles of her neck and causing painful needle-like jolts of pain to shoot up the base of her skull.

_Merlin…_

Bracing herself, the young witch turned back, a morbid fascination and horror shinning in her eyes as tightness once again settled in her throat.

_Did I-…Did I do that to myself…?_

Dark bands of purple and blue ran horizontally across her midsection; the pretty hues of the bruising looking sickeningly unnatural against her pale stomach and rib cage. Faintly, Hermione recalled holding herself tightly as wave after wave of pain had assaulted her; the distraction had kept the panic and hysteria at bay while she coped with the pain. Trance-like, the stunned witch ran a single finger lightly down her side, as if looking for conformation that the witch in the mirror was indeed herself, and then winced as the sensitive skin burned at her touch.

_I'm not dreaming…it's real…not a nightmare…it was all real…_

Keeping her breathing forcibly calm, Hermione turned and continued her morning routine in a daze.

_Turn on the shower. Get in. Wash yourself. Clean hair. Dry off. Put on uniform. That's it – just get through this day. You can do it. Just cast a few glamours on yourself… get rid of red eyes and dark circles… no one will ever be the wiser. _

Hermione felt better after her shower and pep talk, or at least morally anyway. Grabbing her bag and stuffing in a couple last minute books, the Gryffindor caught sight of a letter resting innocently on her nightstand that she hadn't noticed before. Curious, Hermione picked it up and began to read:

_Miss Granger,_ it began, and the witch could almost feel the irritation and short temperedness of it radiating off the black ink.

_No doubt you will be feeling the full side effects of the Cruciatus Curse this morning. Had you chosen to listen to my instruction last night, perhaps you would have been sparred this, but I can only assume your obvious lack of self control and discipline hindered your efforts. _

_On the slight chance you may have come to senses, Headmaster Dumbledore will be available in his office from the hours of seven to twelve for the reversal of the Binding Charm. I highly suggest you make use of his attendance. _

_This is not a game, Miss Granger, as you will have hopefully realized; the stakes are much higher in this war than I believe you are willing to recognize. Do not let that foolish sentiment you call loyalty get in the way of your common sense. _

Hermione could almost hear Snape talking down to her like the 'silly girl' he thought she was and the incensed witch gripped the parchment tightly in her hand. Why couldn't he understand it wasn't _just_ for Harry? Surely this arrangement befitted the entire Order; that's what sacrifice was all about, wasn't it? Giving up something for the good of something far more important. Hermione couldn't understand why Snape – a Slytherin – the most cold, practical house of them all, was making taking such an opposed view to the entire situation.

_He's probably just irritated that I burdened him, of all people, with this, _Hermione thought, cringing inwardly, _No doubt he's regretting ever taking that Student-Teacher oath. Especially after last night's performance… _Hermione felt her stomach twist uneasily at the memory and she rubbed a weary hand over her face. _Why did he have to be there for that? Why couldn't he just leave me alone? It would have been much easier if he hadn't been standing over me, hissing insults in my ear. _

_What did you expect Snape to do after you shared this little secret with him?_ another voice in her mind spoke up, _pretend like that lovely conversation in his classroom never took place? Unlikely. He was __obligated__ to come. You've involved him and now there's no taking it back. Besides, Dumbledore would have his head if he ever found out Snape let you go one with this harebrain plan unsupervised. Snape's protecting his interests, despite how unhelpful his attentions are. _

Hermione wished for the hundredth time that morning that she had never gone to the surly Potions Master. Turning back to the abandoned letter in her hand, Hermione quickly continued reading.

_Your body is unaccustomed to the treatment it received last night. Stay in your room and do not, for any reason whatsoever, go the Infirmary. Madam Pomphrey can spot the Cruciatus symptoms a mile away and I cannot stress the importance that __no one find out about this__. Pomphrey is harmless, but should the wrong person become aware of your condition, it would spell a great deal of trouble for the both of us. I will not have the security of the Order compromised by the sheer idiocy of a half-grown witch. _

_Go to the Headmaster, Miss Granger; this is not your place. _

He had left the missive unsigned.

Throwing the letter in her desk drawer and slamming it shut, Hermione turned away to pick up her bag. She was _not_ missing classes, Snape could hiss at her all he wanted, she was not going to hide in her rooms like some whinny, defenseless chit. She would see this through, and no matter Snape thought about it, she was not going to back down. Resolve firm, Hermione headed out the door and down the stairs to the Great Hall.

* * *

Snape sat scowling at his morning meal; his stomach in no mood for the homey, enticing foods the house elves had worked to prepare that day. He'd barely managed a couple hours of restless sleep the night before, his thoughts far too preoccupied with a certain stubborn, Gryffindor chit to truly rest.

_Stupid girl, _he thought, picking at his eggs in an attempt to look busy, _I warned her about this. But did she listen? Of course not, damn Gryffindors, following their misguided morals. Has she no sense of self-preservation whatsoever!? _

"Are you quite alright, Severus?" a familiar concerned voice asked from Snape's right, and the Potion Master turned to meet the inquisitive gaze of Dumbledore.

"Of course, Headmaster," he replied tersely, and put his fork pointedly down after realizing he'd been brutally stabbing at his eggs for the last five minutes. "Simply looking forward to the second day of classes. I'm absolutely _ecstatic_."

The Headmaster chuckled and settled back into his chair. "I see the new year has left your tongue sharp as ever, Severus." Dumbledore eyed the steaming dishes of food with the vigor of a much younger man. "Just remember, my boy," he said, loading up his plate, "every obstacle has its rewards. I'm sure whatever's amiss will turn out well in the end. "

Snape gave of a snort of disdain but Dumbledore was no longer paying attention. _You wouldn't be saying that if you'd seen your precious Gryffindor coughing up blood last night._ The lines of Snape's scowl deepened as he turned back to brood over his meal.

Not five minutes later, Snape was taking a deep sip of his scalding morning coffee when a familiar brunette with a slightly wrinkled uniform slipped through the doors of Great Hall and settled down in her usual seat. Snape nearly choked.

_The little bint's going to pass out in the middle of the Great Hall!_ he thought, rising halfway out of his seat before he caught himself. Forcing himself back down, Snape appeared to be staring resolutely into the depths of his coffee mug when, in reality, his sharp gaze was trained on the pale young woman out of the corner of his eye.

She did indeed look as though she were about to drop to the floor in a dead faint; her usually deliberate stride had been reduced to a meandering swagger as though she lacked the energy to properly pick her feet up, her face – though obviously softened by a glamour – was tired and strained, and her eyes shined with exhaustion. She should still be in bed.

_It seems she's decided against reversing the Binding, _he thought, not surprised in the least, _but I suppose it was worth a try. _

Snape watched as the young witch reached for her morning orange juice, inwardly cringing as he waited for her reaction.

She didn't disappoint. As soon as the acidic juice slid down her raw throat, the Gryffindor erupted in a series of sputtering coughs loud enough to turn several heads; her eyes tearing as she clumsily replaced her goblet and waved off Mister Weasley, who was whacking her unhelpfully on the back. Snape would have sneered had it not been so pitiful.

_Damn her!_ he silently cursed, as he realized she'd thrown off his carefully planned strategy by coming to breakfast. He hadn't expected her to make an appearance until tomorrow, at the earliest. He hadn't had a chance to speak with Dumbledore yet.

Leaning over, he smoothly interrupted the Headmaster's conversation with Professor McGonagall and hastily whispered in Dumbledore's ear. Anyone who'd been watching the exchange would have been puzzled as the Headmaster's face first went from absolute confusion, to surprise, and then childish delight in the space of moment.

"Really, Severus?" Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling madly, "That's wonderful! Of course, dear boy, you might have given me a little more warning. Applicants were due over a month ago."

"Forgive me, Headmaster," Snape replied, "She only approached me last night with her wishes."

"And you approve?" Dumbledore asked, surprised.

Snape shrugged nonchalantly. "She will do." Inwardly though, he sighed in relief; the Potions Master honestly thought it'd have taken much more explaining to appease the headmaster. Snape was grateful Dumbledore was never one for asking questions.

The headmaster beamed. "Well done then! I'll add her name to the list of announcements this morning!"

With that, Snape settled contently back into his seat; at least that was one problem he'd taken care of. Now no one would wonder why Miss Granger disappeared periodically throughout the week, why she stayed out so late even after her Head Girl duties were completed, why she looked an absolute mess come morning, but most of all, why she would be spending so much time in the presence of a certain Potions Master.

* * *

"Attention, students!" Dumbledore announced, his voice booming out over the dull roar of morning chatter and bringing silence to the hall. The student body turned to look at their headmaster expectantly.

"I have some very exciting news to share," he began, smiling brightly, "the final applicants for this year's teacher assistants have been finalized! The results are as follows: Mister Andrew Penn for Astrology—" a short Ravenclaw seventh-year smiled brightly as a short burst of applause followed his name "—Miss Hannah Abbott for Charms, Mister Neville Longbottom for Herbology—" the shout, blond boy turned bright red with pleasure "—Daphne Ingles for Ancient Runes…"

The list went on until at last the final name was called. "And, for the first time in almost two decades, let's congratulate our new Potions Assistant – Miss Hermione Granger!"

Two tables away, Hermione went abruptly still was her name spilled from the headmaster's lips. _What in Merlin's beard…?_

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron yelled over the applause. "Why didn't you tell us you wanted to be the Snape's assistant?"

"I…well- um…I didn't…" she trailed off hopelessly.

"She probably just didn't want to tell anyone till she was sure it was final. Right, Hermione?" Ginny broke in.

Hermione was about to tell everyone there must be some kind of mistake when she caught the almost magnetic gaze of the dark man who sat to the left of the headmaster.

_A simple excuse for your future absences, _a baritone voice echoed in her head, _if I must be burdened with your presence, it will at least be on my terms. Stop gaping, Miss Granger, it's even more so unbecoming than your incessant prattling. Now use your so-called wits and come up with an excuse for your little friends; Potter looks suspicious. Now!_

Hermione blinked as the words rapidly flashed through her brain, giving her barely enough time to understand them much less come up with a response. Snape broke the fragile eye contact and turned away, his appearance that of a politely listening spectator as Dumbledore continued in his speech that Hermione had long ceased to hear.

_Did he say Potions Assistant?_

"Heeeermioooneeee," Ron said, waving his hand an inch in front of her face and effectively snapping her out of her thoughts. "You okay, Herm?" He squinted his eyes as if that would somehow help him see better. "Blimey, Hermione, you look bloody awful today. You aren't already pulling all-nighters are you? It's only the first week of school!"

Hermione managed to blush and send him a glaring look at the same time. "Of course not, Ron, don't be silly. I'm just still recovering; I hadn't honestly thought Snape would accept an assistant. He never has before, you know."

"That is strange," Harry put in, looking towards the high table thoughtfully, "I can't believe you volunteered for this though. You know he's going to run you into the ground. For Merlin's sakes, I don't mean to rain on your parade but he hates us, 'Mione! Well, I mean he hates everyone – but especially us!"

Hermione sighed. _I know, Harry, trust me _– I know

The newly appointed Potions Assistant spent the remainder of breakfast trying to convince most of the seventh-year Gryffindors that – yes, she really did apply _willingly_ for the post and yes, she was _wanted_ to spend most of her evenings in a cold, dank, dungeon, and that _no_, she did not possess the power to alter or give grades. When the first bell rang for class, Hermione's shoulders were already drooping with fatigue and her hand had started to subtly shake beneath her long robe sleeves.

* * *

By the time the last class of the day rolled around, Snape had worked himself into such a foul temper that the very manner in which his students _breathed_ seemed to grate on his last nerve.

"Longbottom! Five points from Gryffindor for being out of your seat when the bell rings!" he snapped, startling the entire class as he swept into the classroom and slammed the door shut. The heavy _thud_ echoed throughout the now-silent classroom.

After two decades of being a turncoat and spy, Snape was used to feelings of extreme pressure and anxiousness – that heavy imaginary weight that seemed to settle in your gut and burden your consciousness; an awareness that never stopped buzzing through your mind even as you slept. He dealt with the feeling of it constantly and yet – today was different, today was far worse. The stakes had been raised, and the risk doubled.

Usually Snape only had himself to worry about – his secrets, his spying, his burden, and his pain. But this time it was different. Now, in addition his own safety, he was weighed down with the knowledge that he, and he alone, was responsible for a young charge he had not needed nor wanted. It would be lying to say he didn't resent her fully for the tension headache now pounding in the back of his skull and the black apprehension eating away at his insides.

_She has no right to involve herself in things far beyond her capabilities, _he thought, refusing to even glance at the girl in question as the ugly sentiment played over and over again through his mind, _no right._

Hermione watched slightly detached as the Potions Master scrawled the day's assignment on the board in a spidery, jagged hand, her eyes fluttering shut every couple seconds to try and lure her to sleep.

_Wake up, Hermione!_ she told herself firmly, shaking her head and running a now openly trembling hand discretely over her face. _One more class! Just get through it!_

In truth, Hermione wasn't sure if she would even make it through the class period; she'd fallen asleep twice throughout the day, nearly killed herself when her ankle had given out on her way down a stairwell, spent her lunch time working on a Transfiguration essay she hadn't been able to do the night before, and now a pounding headache was slowly working to reduce her to tears.

She could hear Snape start to lecture in the background but for some reason couldn't seem to focus on his words; something about the Memory Potion they'd started working on the day before. Instead, she watched childishly fascinated as her hand trembled slightly from its perch on the top of her desk; the tiny, intricate muscles that made up a human hand spasming erratically even when she tried not to.

_I can't take notes_, she realized, her eyes fluttering shut more in defeat than wariness, _I couldn't even do that simple Texture Changing spell in Charms today…Merlin, I know I could have done it. My hand…uh! Why won't it stop shaking?! _ She cursed every god she could think of even as she prayed to them to make it stop.

"Miss Granger!" a sudden, hard voice sudden sounded, jerking Hermione from her thoughts as her eyes snapped open. Glaring pools of obsidian locked onto her. "Tell me, Miss Granger, what kind of example does it show if the Head Girl is caught sleeping in class?" Snape sneered, his voice dangerous.

"I wasn't sleeping," Hermione replied without thinking, and then mentally hit herself as she watched the hard planes of her professor's face tighten.

_"Indeed_," he responded, leaving his position at the front of the class to stand beside her; the scratchy material of his woolen teaching robes brushing her arm. "Then just _what_," he asked, picking up her blank parchment where she was supposed to have been writing notes on, "were you doing? Enlighten us, Miss Granger."

Hermione dropped her gaze, biting the inside of her mouth as she felt the eyes of twenty people come to rest on her.

"I _was_ paying attention, _sir,_ I was just resting my eyes for a moment," she muttered demurely, and flinched as he slammed her parchment back down in front of her.

"Thirty points from Gryffindor for utter laziness," he said, turning away even as Hermione opened her mouth in protest.

"Sir—"

"Plus another five for arguing," he added, "And, since you are obviously so well versed in making of the Memory Potion, Miss Granger, you will forfeit your class time today and reorganize my stockroom. No need to get your ingredients out."

"Professor! This potion is going to be on the N.E.W.T's! You can't—"

"Enough, Miss Granger!" he fumed, making the class hold their breath as his voice rose. "You have already interrupted my class with your sheer lack of respect and proper classroom etiquette. I will not allow for you to continue to waste my time! Be silent!"

Hermione felt the fight go out of her at his tone and wordlessly dropped her gaze to her lap, the telltale stinging of tears making her eyes blink more rapidly than normal.

_It's not my fault…_

Hermione could hear Snape continue in his explanation of the many dangerous ingredients used in the making of the potion but this time she purposefully blocked his words out. She wouldn't be making the potion anyway. A couple minutes later, Hermione heard the chairs screech as they were pushed back and the sound of students rising to begin their brewing. She sighed and rose with them, heading resignedly towards the ingredients room in the very back of the class.

Almost as soon as she entered the room, the tall silhouette of the Potions Master darkened the doorway and she took a tentative step back as his presence filled the entire room.

"Just _what_ do you think you were doing back there?" he hissed, and Hermione saw his large hands clenched into fists. She took another step back. "You're supposed to be my assistant, you dim girl, or have you forgotten already? Do you honestly think I would tolerate that level of flippancy if you were truly my apprentice?"

"No, sir."

"They why do you feel the urge to test my patience with such pointless displays of insubordination?" he retorted heatedly.

Hermione bit her lip in an effort not to yell at him; _I wasn't bloody 'testing your patience', you callous, sadistic man, I've been writing all day and my hand is shaking so badly my handwriting is barely legible. I'm sorry I didn't copy your stupid notes!_

"Why won't you let me make my potion?" she asked instead, her tone coming to match his own. "Malfoy's never written a single page of notes in his life yet you never make him sit out! I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention today. I'm tired, everything hurts, my hand won't stop shaking—"

"Which is exactly the reason why you should _not_ be handling ingredients that could potentially create a repeat of yesterday's catastrophe!" Snape interrupted, his voice dripping with impatience and exasperation. "Do you honestly think I'd let you brew such a complex potion in your state?!"

"I'm fine!"

_Really?"_ Quick as a shot and without warning, his hand flew out and pushed her firmly on her shoulder; effectively knocking her back a couple steps. Hermione's eyes widened as she felt her weight suddenly thrown off balance and she stumbled backwards into an undignified heap on the ground as her legs buckled.

_Smack!_

Hermione hissed as her backside slammed painfully unto the cold, stone floor. The blow shooting jolts of pain all the way up her spine and her hands curled reflexively into fists as she gritted her teeth.

_Of all the low-blow, first year tactics… _Honestly, had he just pushed her?!

"You should have been able to see that coming, or at least been able to recover in time to stop your fall," Snape drawled, not looking concerned in the least that he had just shoved one of his students to the ground. "Your reflexes are pitiful and you hardly have the energy to stand without locking your legs. You're in no condition to be handling volatile ingredients. You will stay here for the class period."

Snape watched with hooded eyes as the young Gryffindor before him sputtered incoherently, the fire in her eyes switching from pain, to surprise quickly followed by anger. He quickly pushed down the little coil of guilt that curled up inside him – he honestly hadn't meant to push her so hard; only enough to prove how little strength she truly retained beneath those wrinkled robes. Obviously she was far weaker than he'd judged.

"Fine," Hermione spat, dragging herself unsteadily to her feet and refusing to look Snape in the eye as she dusted herself off. No, she didn't want to miss class but she had to be honest with herself – potions took precision, concentration, vigilance; none of which she had the energy to be. She didn't want to endanger the class on her account.

"Good," Snape replied shortly, turning to leave.

"Wait – how do you want me to organize your shelves?" Hermione asked grudgingly, and then blinked in surprise as Snape let out the smallest of rueful snorts.

"As if I would let you touch my stocks," he snapped, pausing at the doorway. His omniscient eyes swept once more over Hermione and the witch felt suddenly naked from his penetrating gaze. "Sit down, Miss Granger, you look as though you're about to collapse. I suggest you take this time to catch up on the sleep you missed last night." His gaze hardened. "We will discuss this further when class ends."

Not waiting for a reply, the Potions Master swept out of the stockroom; the heavy door shutting firmly in his wake and leaving a stunned young woman alone in the dimly lit room.

For a moment Hermione simply stood there, too shocked and angry and tired to do anything but stare at the door Snape had so abruptly departed from. Finally, shaking her head and turning away, Hermione slowly moved to the very back of the decent sized room and unceremoniously slid down a wall into a crouched position on the floor.

Looming shelves filling to the brink covered nearly every spare inch of space in the room and the musty, dank smell of herbs and spice permeated every spidery crack that ran through the wore stone floor. It was a rather eerie room to be stuck in, especially when the only sources of light were a couple sporadically placed torches along the wall.

Hermione shivered. Scanning the shelves for something to transfigure into a blanket, Hermione spied a nearby jar of Elderberries and leaned over to snatch one from the open container. A muttered word and a couple swishes from her wand later, Hermione wrapped her dusty-red colored blanket firmly around herself and then, deciding that perhaps Snape's advice wasn't completely worthless, let her body finally sink into the abyss of sweet unconsciousness it had been fighting towards all day.

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	13. The Jungle

**Still hating the new document software. But, on the bright side, I BEAT MY RECORD! I was so happy. For those of you who don't write - I'm not sure how to describe the job of watching the little 'hits' counter slowly go up. I find it strangely fascinating. This chapter's for **Alaramine; **indeed... 'the more you update, the more we review' comment made quite a lot of sense. This one's for you. This chapter will answer some questions and, hopefully, leave you with even more. Enjoy!**

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**Stats:** 16,833 hits. 100 alerts (Now 7 of them review...). 37 favs. 213 reviews. **New record:** 25 reviews for a single chapter. Words - 57,499

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**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Snape watched satisfied as Potter and Weasley reluctantly exited his classroom after being ordered quite bluntly to leave before he assigned them detention with Filch. Snape's good mood faded though, as he remembered _why_ the dynamic duo hade been hanging around his classroom after the bell rang.

_Miss Granger._

Heaving an irritated sigh of air, Snape spun around and headed towards the storage room; his deliberate steps now the only sound in the deserted dungeon room. He admitted to himself that he may have been a little harsh with Miss Granger, but sometimes, and especially with stubborn Gryffindors, _harsh_ was the most effective technique to use.

_She's probably spitting mad you left her there like that though, _a voice spoke up in Snape's mind and he inwardly cringed. _With any luck she'll have worn herself out already… _

Snape opened the heavy door to the storage room and squinted into the dim light.

"Miss Granger?" he called, walking inside and scanning the niches and corners carved out in the room, searching languidly for the young witch. _Troublesome wench. Where in Merlin's beard was she…?_

Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Snape spied a huddled figure in red slumped ungracefully against one of the back shelves. One elegantly formed eyebrow rose in surprise; _what do you know, she actually followed my directions – for once. _

Standing over her, Snape impatiently prodded her with a finely pointed boot. "Miss Granger, wake up this instant. I've left you in here for over an hour and a half; that's more than enough time for you to have sufficiently recovered."

He watched in the flickering light as her eyes clenched tighter and her body subtlety turned away from his offending voice. She was not waking up. His mouth twisting into a cruel line of irritation, Snape bent down and roughly cupped the witch's cold cheek in the palm of his hand; his critical gaze racing over her features.

Dark smudges resembling bruises could be seen slowly emerging under her eyes; Snape suspected her rather inexperienced glamour was wearing off, and her eyelids were flickering ever so slightly in her sleep as she shivered on the cold floor. It was obviously not a restful slumber, merely a much needed one. Her impromptu blanket has slipped down from her shoulders and Snape could clearly see the delicate outline of her nipple through the thin, white cotton of her uniform.

His eyes narrowed as an unwanted jolt of heat shot straight through him, his manhood twitching unexpectedly beneath his sweeping robes. _It's a simple physical reaction to the cold_, _nothing to get excited about, _he told himself agitatedly, brushing aside his body's response as he bent forward and brusquely pulled her robes and makeshift blanket securely shut.

It was amazing that such an inconsequential thing could provoke such a reaction in him, but Snape had to admit that, despite what people may claim, he was a hot-blooded male and he had not been with a woman in quite some time. He inwardly sneered in disgust as he remembered Professor d'Georgesses words; _she looks as a woman looks._

_Barely, _he thought, slightly mortified at the thought. _Merlin, will this witch ever cease to cause me problems?_

Begrudgingly, Snape slipped an awkward arm under the young Gryffindor's knees as the other moved to support her back; his face set in an irritated scowl as he rose to his feet. Settling the sleeping bundle into a more comfortable position, Snape swiftly exited the storage room with a loud _slam!_ of the wooden door.

Miss Granger didn't so much as flinch in her sleep and Snape's lips thinned into a tight line. _Troublesome little witch…exhausting herself to this extent. She's supposed to be the practical one of Potter's little trio! Can't even take care of herself…_

Approaching the solid wall behind his desk, Snape barked a curt password and then watched impassively as the door to his private chambers appeared and swung open obediently.

The Potion Master's unease increased as he stepped through the entrance with the young witch; he could not remember the last time someone other than Dumbledore had graced his quarters with their presence. In fact, in over two decades of him inhabiting these rooms, he could still count the number of times the headmaster had visited him on his two hands.

Pausing in front of the grand fireplace, Snape looked between the settee and his twin high back chairs. Gazing closely, he could carve out the imprint of his body in the soft leather of settee from the sheer number of times he'd collapsed exhausted into it over the years and, though he had a perfectly comfortable bed in the next room, the imprints of his boots still marred the buttery texture of the settee from the many times he'd fallen asleep on the familiar divan.

His gaze shifted to the high back chairs. Dark colors, the rigid ninety-degree angle of the backrest, and the rather austere, masculine line of the body; Snape had brought the chairs on a whim and yet, in all the years he'd owned them, he could not recall a single time someone had actually _sat_ in them.

Snape unceremoniously dropped Miss Granger into one of the high back chairs.

He was unhappy as it was that he was forced to open his private quarters to an onerous charge, but he'd be _damned_ if she expected him to make treat her as a guest. She was not a guest; she was an unwanted, inconvenient burden he'd been saddled with out of fate's vindictive nature and his own increasingly vengeful karma.

Miss Granger was not welcome, and Snape was sure as hell going to make sure she knew it.

* * *

_,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-._

Hermione's eyes flickered briefly as she slowly reemerged from her uncomfortable slumber; her whole body feeling as though it'd been trampled by a pack of hippogriffs. Slowly, she pushed herself into a half-sitting, half-lying position; a small moan of discomfort escaping her lips as her bruised midsection protested painfully to the movement. Rubbing her sleepy eyes, Hermione became aware of the ridiculously unyielding chair she's been none too carefully deposited in, and she wrapped her transfigured blanket tighter around herself as tentatively pulled her body into a full sitting position.

_Who in Merlin's name would own such a bloody uncomfortable chair? The cushions hard as stones and the backrest feels like a ruddy plank… _

Blinking, she let her awareness slowly come back to her. _Wait, where am I? This isn't the storage room… _

Indeed it couldn't have been more different.

A great fireplace stood directly in front of Hermione, its modest fire crackling pleasantly in the otherwise silent room. Hermione craned her head to look around the foreign chambers. A thick, Oriental rug with dark green and black hues covered the spacious area in front of the fireplace, the stone walls that supported a towing ceiling were decidedly barren, and a towering, mahogany bookcase ran the length of two full walls. The entire room was composed of earthy, dark tones that reminded Hermione of a forest at night.

"Nice to see you've finally awoken," a dry, humorless voice said from directly behind her chair, and Hermione visibly jumped.

Spinning around, Hermione let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Snape; his arms clasped sternly behind his back as he regarded her with hooded eyes.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said, rising to her feet and immediately feeling awkward under his unyielding gaze. "I…I didn't mean to sleep no long. I was just…tired. I apologize," she finished lamely.

"Indeed," was his only comment as he slowly moved from behind the chair to in front of the fireplace; his arms now folded across his chest as his finger tapped rhythmically against his arm.

_Tap...tap...tap...tap…_ Hermione chose to watch his finger instead of the ever-present scowl she knew she'd find on his face.

"It seems, Miss Granger," he said finally, "that this harebrain scheme of yours is more complex than I think you would have liked to believe. You've involved me – irrevocably– and now your secret has now become yet another one of my responsibilities—"

Hermione let out a hasty breathe, "I know, and I'm sorry for that, Sir. I didn't realize—"

"Didn't realize what, you silly girl," he snapped, the tendon in his neck straining as his face contorted in anger. "Didn't realize how dangerous these side effects truly are? Didn't realize that it's not only your life you're endangering my keeping the Bonding intact? Didn't realize how critical it is that no one finds out about this? Do you know what would happen to me should anyone link your symptoms to mine? Do you know what would happen to _you_?!"

He was breathing heavily by the end of his tirade, and Hermione bit the inside of her lip to keep from showing how strongly his words truly affected her.

"There's no other choice," she said softly, her nails digging crescent shaped holes into her palm as she clenched her fist. "Professor Dumbledore told me at St. Mungo's how important this Bonding was, how essentials it was for Harry. I'd never seen the headmaster so desperate… I-I couldn't bear it if we somehow lost this war because I wasn't willing to deal with a little pain, a little secrecy, a little danger. Everyone else does. I can too."

For the next long moments the room was silent except for the measured breathing of the Potions Master and the pounding of Hermione's heart as it beat frantically in her chest.

_Please, just help me. I need an ally in all this; please. _

"Fine," Snape spat, not sounding happy in the least, "the Bond will remain intact, for now, with my assistance. You had better hope Potter is more vigilant in his Legilimancy training now than he was last year."

"Thank you," she whispered, but the Potions Master didn't so much as acknowledge her words as he swept past her.

"This," he said, snatching a waiting paper off the corner of a large desk, "is the Potions Assistant agreement you will sign. I will have your afternoons, evenings, and weekends when ever I choose, for as long as I choose. I can't very well have you hiding away in a bathroom whenever I am summoned. From now on, you will come here. No one will question your whereabouts."

"Here?" Hermione asked, her eyes once again flickering around the strange room. _His private quarters._

"Yes, _here_," he repeated snidely, "Whenever you feel the Dark Mark burning, I expect you to come here _immediately._ I don't care where you are or what you're doing, Miss Granger, you must return to these chambers before I arrive at the Dark Lord's side. It's imperative." Snape couldn't help but lace his voice with venom, _damn it! _These were his _private _quarters. Inwardly, he seethed.

Hermione nodded; slowly becoming resigned to her fate as Potions Assistant. Over all, having her as Snape's apprentice was a rather ingenious plan; taking away both the danger of being discovered and the problem of finding excuses for her absences. Hermione only hoped the stoic Professor would not make her come to regret accepting the post.

"There is another thing I wished to speak with you of," Snape said, watching as she quickly signed the contract, "it concerns Mister Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Hermione repeated, confused about how he came into play with all of this, "What about him? Should I be worried about him?"

Snape rubbed his temples as he went to stand in front of the great fire place; the roaring flames playing over his angular features as he inwardly debated how much to reveal.

"Mister Malfoy," he began, hating the fact that he would have to share with this student information that had been solely entrusted in him. "Mister Malfoy is in a unique position within this war; not entirely unlike myself."

"Is he a spy too?" Hermione asked, flabbergasted that the cruel, icy boy she'd knew would somehow betray his precious lord.

"No," Snape replied, "not necessarily. Draco chooses not to walk the line of good or bad; he serves his own purposes and has his own agenda. But that does not mean that he and Dumbledore do not share common goals. If possible, I would even go so far as to say Draco would spy for the side of light."

"But why isn't that possible?" Hermione asked, "Surely Dumbledore would not turn him away…"

"Dumbledore would never turn away a potential advantage," Snape responded, knowing from experience, "The problem is not that Dumbledore cannot trust Draco; it's that Draco cannot trust Dumbledore."

"What_?_" Hermione exclaimed, "How can he think that? Dumbledore is the one of the greatest and most honorable men I've ever met—"

"The Headmaster was two steps from being sorted into Slytherin, Miss Granger; do not presume to know so much about a man whom you have truly only seen one side of."

Hermione could only stare incredulously at the Potions Master. _Not trust Dumbledore? Was he mad? _The Headmaster was singularly one of the most influential people in the young witch's life; she couldn't imagine not being able to entrust her very soul with the kindly old wizard.

"Have you ever been offered a lemon drop by the Headmaster?" Snape asked suddenly, still staring blankly into the flames.

Hermione nodded even though she knew he couldn't see her.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, with your so-called keen skills of observation, have you ever once noticed he pulls those little yellow candies out of different pockets depending on the situation?"

Hermione blinked, her brow furrowing at the strange question. Thinking back, indeed she could remember the headmaster tending to switch which pocket he kept his candies in. But that didn't mean anything…

"Front left is regular candy, front right are tiny Calming Draught-laced candies, inner left are lemon drops with a Veritaserum core, and inner right – are Knock-out dots, color yellow," Snape drawled, turning to look Hermione in the eye. "Brings 'never accept candy from a stranger' to a whole new meaning, does it not? Albus Dumbledore, above all else, is a hardened, war leader and a shrewd manipulator. Few people just tend to recognize that fact; you would do well to remember it, Miss Granger."

"I…but he wouldn't…" Hermione said softly, her mind shifting through dozens of different instances where she'd accepted a sugary treat from the headmaster's mysterious pockets. The ingested amount was small enough that she would not have been able to detect the potion, and Hermione could remember at least a couple times when she'd somehow felt more at ease around the headmaster after having one of his candies. _Merlin…_

"I trust you will keep this information to yourself," Snape said, jerking Hermione from her thoughts.

"Of course, Sir," she replied automatically.

He made a noncommittal noise. "I shall know if you do not, Miss Granger."

He watched from the corner of his eyes as the young witch lapsed once again into silence; her eyes seeing something he could not as a slight frown appeared on her face.

"The point is, Miss Granger, that Draco does not trust Dumbledore, but does not agree with the Dark Lord either. He is on a side on his own, and until now, I was the only person aware that such a place existed."

Hermione reached blindly behind her, feeling for the high back chair and then sank limply into it; uncaring of Snape's ever watchful gaze.

_This is the problem with secrets,_ she realized, _you have one, but then that one becomes two, and those two become four, until everything you do and every thing you are is corrupted by that single thing you try hardest to hide. I couldn't tell anyone about the Bond, then I couldn't tell anyone about the side effects of that Bond, then I had to keep why I became a Potions Assistant a secret, and now all this? Must I be burdened with Snape and Malfoy's secrets along with my own? Will it ever stop…? _

"Why did you tell me this to begin with?" she asked finally, feeling her newfound energy slowly draining with each new turn of the conversation. She didn't know how much more she could bear to hear… "What does Malfoy have to do with me staying in your quarters?"

Snape's expression once again darkened. "Draco was forced to join the Death Eater ranks this summer; sometimes he is not in any condition to return to school on his own after revels and I must bring him here first to heal him. I told you merely so as not to alarm you should the occasion arise where I do not return alone. He will be informed of your…_condition._"

"You're going to tell him about this?" Hermione said, rising quickly to her feet as she gestured between the two. _This_ was obviously indicating their connection through the Bonding charm.

"Yes, Miss Granger; that is what I said. I would appreciate it if you ceased to repeat me every time I say something. It's quite an unflattering habit of yours," Snape snapped at her, his patience running thin, "Considering the circumstances, Draco is one of the few people in this entire castle that our situation will be shared safely with. I suggest you reevaluate your opinion of the Malfoy heir before you say something you might regret."

Hermione opened her mouth, and then shut it; and then opened it, and shut it once more. Nothing she wanted to say was going to come out right; she would be safer not saying anything at all just yet.

"A wise decision," Snape sneered and Hermione grit her teeth. _Merlin, he was an infuriating man!_

"Is that all?" the witch asked, praying to any god that was listening that is was.

Snape, for the first time since Hermione had known him, hesitated before speaking. "…no. There is one more thing I should show you before you leave. Stay where you are."

Hermione's eyes widened and she scooted further back in her chair as the Potions Master came to stand in the middle of the hearth; his eyes shut in concentration.

"There are times when I will be in too much pain to make the journey back to Hogwarts in my human form," Snape said dryly, "and my Animagus is rather…uncommon. I expect no comments, Miss Granger, just watch."

Hermione gazed captivated as the dark man before her was suddenly encased in an intense, concentrated light that surrounded his form. For a moment there was only the pulsing aura, and then the change began. Morphing from one form to another took only a second, but it was one of the most beautiful seconds Hermione had ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Bone and muscle seemed to melt under the power of the transformation and, in the space of an instant, reform to create a body so unlike Snape's own.

His imposing presence and steely gaze never wavered even as his bone structure was morphed and remolded, changed and reshaped. Long limps became shorter, crouched legs of an animal of prey, broad shoulders and chest stayed proportionate to his wiry body but the vertically oriented composition of his form altered into a more horizontal figure. Depthless black fur replaced flowing, woolen robes and his facial features rapidly became furry and pointed as the change took over; a flowing, silky mane the color of ash sprouting out. The pearly white sheen of twin pointed teeth peeked out just slightly from a powerful jaw and Hermione held her breath in awe as the tapping of his long, ropy tail broke the silent.

_A black lion,_ Hermione thought; stunned by the sheer beauty of the exotic animal that stood stonily before her.

Snape's eyes had not changed despite the fact that the obsidian irises were now slits instead of orbs and his gaze seemed to dare her to make some comment about his Animagus form. Fortunately, Hermione had nothing to say; she'd honestly expected his inner animal to be a snake, or spider, or bat, or some other creepy little creature that slunk around in the darkness.

_I see the typical Gryffindor lack of imagination has not spared you, _a cool voice suddenly sounded in her head and Hermione blushed.

_What— damn it, he's using Legilimancy. _

Even with feline features, Hermione could still pick out the pointed raise of Snape's eyebrow.

_Ten points from Gryffindor for language unbefitting of a Head Girl._

Hermione bit her lip as she silently fumed.

_As you can see, Miss Granger, _Snape's voice echoed in her mind, _my Animagus form is rather useless as a tool for spying, but nevertheless, being outside my regular body battles the effect of the Cruciatus Curse like little else. When I return from the revels, I will, more likely than not, be in this form. I suggest you get use to it now._

It was strange listening to a voice ring in her mind even as its user sat silently before her; his slanted eyes narrowed and his dark tail swaying rhythmically back and forth, but Hermione supposed she'd seen stranger things in her time in the wizarding world – much stranger things. A tiny hint of a smile snuck onto her face as she watched his tail. _That was certainly unexpected…_

Snape's suddenly bore his teeth in a silent growl and then, without warning, a shimmer of light and the tall imposing Potions Master had returned before her.

"So nice to see my talents amuse you, Miss Granger," he snapped, and immediately he was the cold professor she's known for so long. "Idiot girl, I'm not telling you all this to entertain you. I am telling you all this so I will not have to listen to your incessant prattling and questioning in the future. In case you are unaware of the fact, I am a private man and I do not suffer fools nor weaklings easily. I have a routine that has lasted me the better part of two decades, longer than you have been alive, Miss Granger, and I will not allow you to disrupt my life any more than you already have."

Hermione's eyes lost the tiny spark of delight that had sprung up upon seeing his Animagus form, and she hung her head slightly in guilt. He was right; she had imposed on his time and now on his privacy. Both were valuable to the Potions Master. She truly had no right to be here; it was simply the most convenient course of action – for both of them.

"I understand, Sir," she said, sighing softly, "I swear I never meant to involve you so deeply. Perhaps I should have just kept this whole thing to myself after all…"

The young witch's face was riddled with guilt and regret but Snape turned a cold shoulder to her. Indeed, part of him wished she had never approached him, he was a man that needed no more complications in life, and yet, the thought of what could have happened should she had kept the Bonding effects a secret… Snape tightened his jaw. It was truly a double ended sword; neither alternative offered a desirable outcome.

"What's done is done," Snape said, dismissing the issue, "thinking on it will not change anything. What matters now is that I am saddled with you as an Assistant and you with I as a Master. Your duties," he continued, narrowing his eyes at the witch, "will not be excused simply because you did not apply for the post. If I am to be burdened with you, you will pull your weight."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I expected as much from you, Sir."

Snape was silent for a second, as if judging whether or not she was mocking him, before he moved on. "Very well, Miss Granger. That will be all. You may return to your common room. Now. I have already wasted too much of my afternoon on this issue."

Hermione eyes flashed once in indignation before she rose quickly to her feet; she had no desire to spend any more time with Snape and was more than willing to flee the sardonic presence of the bitter man. Unfortunately, the quick movement of standing sent a burning shot of agony straight through Hermione's midsection; her face blanching as a strangled, unidentifiable sound escaped her lips.

Snape's trademark sneer graced his lips as he witnessed his new Assistant double over in pain; _bullheaded twit. When will you learn to be more careful? _

"Hurt yourself, have you?" he asked rhetorically, reaching for his wand, "I tried to tell you last night not to grasp your ribs so hard. Little fool, drop your hands. As Madam Pomfrey is out of the question, and you haven't the skill to heal yourself yet, it seems I'm once again the only candidate to assist you."

"Don't trouble yourself," Hermione snapped, stepping back from him; her eyes burning in pain and bruised pride. "I didn't ask for your help; you seem to forget that a lot nowadays. I don't need you; I'm fine."

Snape's face remained impassive but Hermione could see the anger burning in his eyes. "Fine," he spat, replacing his wand without a second glance and turning away. "I trust you can find the door. Use it."

Hermione headed towards the door without another word; her arm still banded tightly around her stomach and her mouth set in a grim lime of determination. Almost as soon as her palm made contact with the doorknob, Snape's baritone voice rang out across the room.

"And Miss Granger, twenty points from Gryffindor for the theft of valuable potion ingredients…Elder berries don't grow on trees."

Hermione slammed the door on her way out.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed that. I certainly did. I'm curious as to what people thought about the chapter because, yeah I'll admit it, dialog is absolutely my weakest point (discounting grammar) and this chapter was packed with it. Horrible? Genius? Unrealistic? Abysmal? ...yeah, I'm sure there are more verbs to describe it but I'll leave you there. **

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_**Review, damn you! I know you're there!! **I_


	14. Adequate

** I apologize for delay - _don't eat me! _In other news, I got some really lovely reviews that I smiled over. You have no idea how much those mean to me and thanks loyal reviews (I do keep track) for continuing to follow this story. **

**I do so hope you all enjoy.**

* * *

_Hermione headed towards the door without another word; her arm still banded tightly around her stomach and her mouth set in a grim lime of determination. Almost as soon as her palm made contact with the doorknob, Snape's baritone voice rang out across the room._

_"And Miss Granger, twenty points from Gryffindor for the theft of valuable potion ingredients…Elder berries don't grow on trees."_

_Hermione slammed the door on her way out._

**_,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-._**

**CHAPTER FORTEEN **

Sleep that night found Hermione tossing and turning in her bed, her sheets tangled tightly around her legs like the tentacles of a Devil Snare and her brow slicked with sweat as she made helpless noises in her slumber.

The nightmares had come.

Dreams always have the capacity to leave one in the sweet, sated bliss of unawareness or the shaking, tearful state of horror from which you cannot escape – both avenues boundless in an ethereal place of unrealism where the subconscious rises up and takes hold of what weighs on you the most. Hermione's fear had thrown off its reins…and now it ran rampant.

_Shadows cast by a single flickering candle, the touch of unyielding stone under bruised hands, the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness that stabbed through her chest…_

The memories seemed to take on a life of their own – growing at a beat that matched her pulse, feeding off the darker side of imagination and illusion. She was back in the bathroom, still vulnerable, but no longer alone. Dark hooded figures stood over her, their faces eclipsed by depthless shadows and the frantic sound of her heartbeat filling the stale, heavy air.

_Thump...thump…thump...thump…thump…thump..thump..thump…_

Hermione stopped breathing as the figures moved closer; too human to be Dementors yet all the more frightening because of it.

These were men…and they were going to hurt her.

Fear crushed logic, smashed reason, and washed away defiance – Hermione could only watch, trapped like the scared animal she imagined she was, as a robed arm rose into the air. Tears clogged her throat and her lungs seemed to collapse.

_No, please don't! Not again! Please…!_

And her world splintered into oblivion.

* * *

Hermione awoke panting desperately through broken sobs; the lingering stabs of phantom pain shooting through her.

_No…not again…please…no…_

Her hair was sticky with sweat and her heart beat like it wanted to escape the confines of her chest but Hermione could only tremble weakly on the tossed sheets as the mind-numbing panic slowly receded. _It's not real, it's not real,_ she told herself over and over, forcing her eyes open and taking in the peaceful moonlit room, _I'm safe. It wasn't real. It wasn't real…_

It was only when the gentle press of soft fur brushed Hermione's face that she allowed her unsteady hands to loosen their death grip around her stomach – _Crookshankes._ Taking a deep breath she tentatively reached out to pet her loyal familiar. _I'm safe. _She willed the rest of her body to relax its rigid posture but then froze as something completely foreign registered in her mind. _What in the world…?_

Throwing back the covers, Hermione felt her cheeks suddenly burn with shock and humiliation; she was sitting in the middle of a large, dark wet stain with the putrid smell of urine rising up from her damp pajama bottoms. Without hesitation Hermione jumped out of bed, her nose wrinkled with disgust even as her brow furrowed in disbelief.

_Even when I was younger I never wet the bed… Merlin, how humiliating…_

The young witch could only be thankful that she no longer slept in a room shared by four other girls. Had that not been the case, Hermione was sure her humiliation would have been complete.

_Why would I do this? It was just a dream – I've __never__ reacted like that to a dream…_ But then again, Hermione had to admit she'd never had a dream so vivid – so terrifying – that it made her scared to shut her eyes again. Numb with emotional and physical exhaustion, Hermione mindlessly stripped out of her pajamas, _scourgify_ed the sheet and her body, and then climbed back into bed; her heated skin snuggling indulgently into the cool sheets that smelled of lingering magic.

P_lease, no more nightmares._

* * *

The following morning Hermione arrived at the Great Hall, fresh from a hot shower and retaining only faint recalls of the nightmares of the night before. She could handle this, she was sure of it. As soon as she took her seat however, the intense, questioning gaze of Harry suddenly put her on edge.

"Um, 'morning, Harry," she said, slightly puzzled by the strange, unidentifiable look he was giving her. "Did you sleep well?"

Blinking as if breaking from a trance, Harry frowned slightly and turned back to his breakfast. "Not especially, weird nightmare," he mumbled, not meeting her gaze.

"Was it Voldemort?" Hermione whispered covertly to him, suddenly concerned for her best friend.

Harry only shook his head and waved her off. "No, nothing like that, Hermione. It was just…weird." He shook his head and then broke out in a bright, if slightly strained, smile. "Forget I said anything; it was probably just the Canary Custard I had before bed. How was your first night as Snape's apprentice?"

Hermione sighed, the small action her only betrayal of the well of feeling currently rising up inside of her. _How was it?_ she thought, _Horrible, degrading, humiliating, frustrating…scary. Worse than I could have expected. _

"It was fine," Hermione settled on, her voice flat, "Snape is Snape; I can't expect him to act any differently out of the class room than in it."

"So what you're saying is he was a right bastard and you wish you'd never applied for the position," Harry summarized with a sympathetic grin. Hermione snickered and returned the friendly smile with one of her own.

"Right."

* * *

That afternoon Hermione felt her anxiety and worries unconsciously melt into the background as she found herself caught up in the excitement of walking to her first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year.

"So what's this guy like?" Ron asked, slightly jealous that Harry and Hermione had both gotten to meet the new professor face to face.

"Well, he's French for one thing," Harry said, "But it's kind of weird because he doesn't have a French accent. Or any accent for that matter."

"Maybe he learned French and English at the same time," Hermione put in as she hefted her bag of books more securely onto her shoulder. "But other than that, he's kind of tall and…I don't know, _graceful_."

"_Graceful?"_ Ron echoed, looking slightly put out by the thought, "Merlin, if Dumbledore hired some kind of pansy for this year…"

"No, no, not graceful like a swan. More like…" Hermione paused, furrowing her brow as she sought for an accurate comparison.

"More like a rapier," Harry supplied and Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Hmm," was Ron's only comment as they turned the corner and reached the Defense Again the Dark Arts classroom. He didn't sound very optimistic.

"Greetings," a flowing, masculine voice greeted from the front of the room as soon as the bell rang, "and welcome to N.E.W.T Level Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Professor d'Georgesses leaned comfortably against the dark wood of his desk, one hip hitched on the edge of the hard surface as he gazed languidly around the classroom, surveying his seventh year students. His custard colored robes were left carelessly open as if he'd thought the mundane task of buttoning them too much trouble and beneath he wore the traditional black slacks and white dress shirt so many modern wizards had adopted.

Behind her, Hermione could hear Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil sighing loudly about how his robes matched the color of his eyes but personally, Hermione was more interested in the extensive collection of swords, shields, daggers, spears, and axes that adorned the tall walls of the classroom. Many of them had flashy ribbons, glittering jewels, or intricate designs woven into the metalwork but Hermione doubted that made them any less deadly.

_Just how does an expert in ancient charms boast such an expansive selection of weapons?_

Somehow the effect of being virtually surrounded by lethal weaponry was subtly counteracted by old, vibrant tapestries that littered the walls and tall, decorated urns that sat innocently in the corners of the classroom. With each new professor that inhabited these quarters, the room took on a different feel, a different atmosphere. Hermione didn't have to think long to conclude that Professor d'Georgesses' was by far her favorite.

"Before we begin I'd like to introduce myself," Professor d'Georgesses began, his voice clear and light as it ebbed throughout the chamber. "My name is León d'Georgesses and, though I am a native of Caen, France, I spend the majority of my time at my estate in Romania. My life hardly reflects the boasted accolades many of your past Professor may have claimed to but I can say I've had a life well lived. I have traveled with curse breakers and ridden dragons, I have traveled to the ends of the earth and returned multiple times, I have been on vampire hurts as well as slayed my share of werewolves. I have been many things in my lifetime, but one of the few I cannot claim to is that of the role of teacher. Experience, knowledge, and resources are some of the few things I have in spades and I am willing to share them with you. I only ask your cooperation and willingness."

Following his short yet powerful introduction, a couple frantic hands shot into the air; waving with such enthusiasm that the Professor let out a tinkering chuckle and a charming, toothy smile.

"Eager students? Is there anything better in this life?" Slyly pleased, the newest addition to the Hogwart's staff called on Seamus Finnigan, a usually unenthusiastic wizard who normally stayed as far away from teachers as possible.

"Have you really slayed a werewolf, Professor?" he asked, excitedly.

A look of distaste crossed d'Georgesses' face and Hermione could have sworn she saw his eyes glint in the afternoon light.

"Of course, Mister Finnigan, what do you think those swords on the wall are for? Pure silver, of course. Disgusting creatures – werewolves." he said mildly, waving it off. "We share no love with those beasts. Ah, another question! Yes, Miss Webb?"

Hermione could feel the rage radiating off Harry from her seat next to him and she slipped her hand under the table to touch his gripped fist.

"He means other werewolves, Harry," she whispered, her face one of concern, "_We_ all know Remus would never soil himself by joining one of those bloodthirsty packs. You have to remember Greyback, Harry, and others like him. I'm sure if Professor d'Georgesses ever met Remus he would immediately see the difference between them. Besides, werewolves are only really men who give themselves over to the beast in them, Remus is still a man, no matter what his blood or the Ministry says. Don't ever doubt it."

Slowly Hermione watched the tension recede out of Harry's shoulders. "Remus is not a beast, in fact, he's more of a man than many other people I've met." Harry squeezed her hand. "Thanks for reminding me of that, Hermione."

Satisfied that Harry was alright, Hermione turned back to the class where a current discussion on trolls versus giants was taking place.

_I suppose if anything, this year will be an interesting one,_ Hermione thought, too many thoughts running through her already overly taxed mind to decipher. _We'll just have to wait and see…_

* * *

That night and for the next two days, Hermione reported to Snape's room every day at five-thirty without incident and then was dismissed promptly at eight o'clock. For the most part he ignored her, sending her to do the inane, simplistic duties he usually reserved for detention. Never again did he offer to heal her and Hermione repeatedly berated herself for spurning his earlier offered help. Her hands had completely ceased to shake by midday Thursday but the bruises along her ribcage had only faded slightly to a light purple and were still quite painful.

_At least they're healing, _she thought,_ that's at least something that's going well, right…?_ She clung to the little threads of optimism like they were her last hold from the darkness.

Saturday night however, after a short, particularly vicious series of cutting comments, Hermione realized Snape's usually sour deposition was even more unbearable than usual. He was brooding over something and Hermione suddenly felt ill at the thought of what was to come.

_It's Saturday, _she told herself, forcefully keeping her breathing calm and controlled, _what did you expect? Voldemort hasn't summoned him in nearly a week…he's due for a revel._

Her fears came to bear fruit not half an hour later when a sudden, intense burning sensation shot up Hermione's forearm and she heard the sharp intake of breath from behind her. _He's being summoned._ Wordlessly, she rose from her seat where she had been chopping Sabbar roots and followed the Professor through the hidden door behind his desk. She had not been back in his quarters since the night he had so bluntly ordered her form them and the room was no more less foreboding upon second entry. Tall ceilings, a flickering fire, dark austere colors – it would forever remind Hermione of a forest.

_Or perhaps a jungle is more fitting, _Hermione reflected humorlessly as she waited for the Professor to return with his cloak and mask. _Every jungle needs a cat of prey to stalk it. _

"You will remain here till I return," a voice abruptly sounded, breaking through her thoughts and Hermione spun around.

Snape stood before her, complete in his Death Eater attire and a bone-white mask clasp tightly in his hand. Not a night had gone by without Hermione waking, trembling and nearly ill, in a bed soaked with sweat and urine. It was her own private nightly hell which both terrified and humiliated her – was there any way this man could stand before her now, a figure directly from her nightly torture, without her feeling some sort of trepidation?

Hermione swallowed tightly. _No, there was not._

She stood awkwardly in the middle of the Oriental rug as Snape turned away, his thick cloak licking his heels as he stood across the room and opened yet another hidden doorway. Pausing, Snape turned back for a moment, his eyes a depthless black in the heated light and the sharp angles of his face severe and hard.

"Sit," he barked, gesturing to the chair she'd occupied before, "and remember, Miss Granger, to fight the Cruciatus Curse is to encourage it; I expect you to exercise your self-control tonight. I don't want to return to find you in the same state as Monday's performance – I haven't the patience, time, or energy to deal with the frivolities of a distraught witch."

Hermione's jaw went rigid at the intended barb but she remained silent as he plowed on, heedless of her rising temper.

"And, Miss Granger," he finished, his cloak flaring out as he spun away from her, "do not so much as _think_ of moving from that chair before I return. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," she bit out, and then watched with an ambivalent expression as he disappeared down the dank tunnel, the passage baring itself after him.

Sighing in frustrating, Hermione turned away and walked demurely to her indicated seat; her chests weighted down with anxiety and nerves.

_You don't even know if he'll be cursed tonight,_ a hopeful voice spoke up from the back of her mind, but Hermione immediately squashed it. Hermione was no fool; she knew Harry's Ligilimancy lessons had begun the day before, she also knew the Dark Lord was probably furious over the fact that he hadn't been able to access Harry's thoughts. _There's no way around it – he'll blame Snape for not being able to invade Harry's subconscious. I can feel it – tonight does not hold any pleasantries for Snape…or me. _

Curling up in the large, rigid chair, Hermione noticed a small bundle of conspicuous red cloth lying innocently on the armrest. Curious, the young witch reached out and shook out the neatly folded materiel – it was her transfigured dusty-red blanket. Not exactly sure what the gesture meant or implied, Hermione merely settled on the thankfulness that she had at least something familiar to curl up to in the foreign room. Draping it over herself, Hermione leaned back into the strong embrace of the armchair and shut her eyes as she concentrated on her breathing.

She could handle this; she had to.

* * *

Three hours later, Snape padded wearily through the underground tunnel, his Animagus form moving much faster and quieter through the night than any human could have done in his state. The Dark Lord had not been pleased at all with the development surrounding Potter's Ligilimancy lessons. Indeed Snape was lucky he had not been there the day before when Voldemort had tried time and time again to break through the resilient wards that now mysteriously protected The-Boy-Who-Lived's thoughts; wizards at the end of the Dark Lord's temper did not live long enough to beg forgiveness.

As it were, twenty-four hours later had found Voldemort's anger only slightly more pacified and Snape had amazingly escaped with only three warning bouts of Cruciatus. Not as bad as if the Dark Lord's entire rage had been behind it but still enough to make the new recruits cringe and pale in terror. Sometimes watching the pain of another is worse than experiencing it oneself; _sometimes._

Finally, Snape reached the familiar stone barrier that guarded the entrance to his quarters and then watched with guarded, narrow eyes as the heavy stone door swung inwards. _Merlin, please let the foolish chit have learned some control from her last experience…her body's not made to endure this kind of strain at its full force. _

Snape padded silently into the room, his eyes immediately seeking out the black-clad figure that currently sat trembling in the overly large seat of the arm chair.

_She didn't obey me, _was the only thought that crossed Snape's mind as he took in the clenched arms and visibly jerking spine. He'd told her to let the pain flow through her, damn it! Her reaction wouldn't be nearly so violent if she'd been able to control herself. _Damn Gryffindors, complete lack of self-discipline! _

He seethed inwardly as he cursed her and even though he was loath to leave the relatively painless form of his Animagus, Snape knew he was no help to the girl as a beast. He quickly reverted back to his human form, his breath hissing out of him as the pain slammed back into his body; his lungs devoid of air. Breathing forcefully through his nose, Snape kept his muscles loose and relaxed despite the familiar feeling of white-hot spasms now retaking his body; _damn her for his pain!_

Stalking up to her side, Snape towered down over her bowed head and quaking shoulders; _oh how hard she tried to hide her pain from him. _

"Miss Granger, look at me," he ordered, his voice rough as he commanded obedience.

Not daring to disobey, Hermione swallowed and mutely turned her head to the side – the small movement still enough to cause knives of pain to shot through her. Her eyes flickered open only for a moment before they clamped shut once again; the fire hurt her eyes.

Snape's nostrils flared as he took in the tiny rivulet of blood that flowed from her lips down the side of her chin, the foreign, vacant look in her eye as they flickered briefly open, the sporadic, broken breaths that passed through chapped lips. _Little fool, look what you've done. _

Hermione tightened her hold around her stomach as another spasm suddenly slithered down her spine; _Merlin she couldn't breath! Make the pain stop…make it stop!_ Black and grey spots dance in front of her eyes and the young witch bit back a choked noise of pain. She could hear a familiar baritone voice hissing urgently in her ear that she must not loose consciousness but the voice sounded so very far away…and she was so very tired…and she hurt so very much… The darkness would take the pain away; Hermione was so sure of it she almost wished for the ignorance of unconsciousness.

The sudden press of a vial against her cut lip made Hermione wince in pain and shy away from the offending object but a firm grip caught her chin and determinedly forced the overly sweet concoction past her lips and down her throat. Almost immediately, the black and grey spots disappeared, the pain returning to its vivid, stabbing intensity. Hermione bit her lip to stop from sobbing; _no, let me fall…let the pain go away. No…let me go…_

"Stop biting your lip this instant!" Snape's voice snapped from beside her, "You're making yourself bleed."

"Why did you do that?" Hermione managed to whisper brokenly, "Why couldn't you let me escape the pain? Why did you bring me back!?"

"Unconsciousness does not prevent the curse form ravaging your body, you little fool," Snape replied curtly, throwing the used potion phial aside as he roughly straightened her legs out from under her and forced her back into a straight sitting position. "Now, this time you _will_ let the spasm flow through you – you will not stop it, nor will you try to hide form it. Do try to at least _pretend_ to possess some of that so called Gryffindor bravery."

That single careless comment scraped all the way to the bone and Hermione's eyes flared open in rage.

"You bastard, don't touch me—"

"As if you could honestly stop me, Miss Granger," Snape threw back all too easily, "But I'll compromise – you show me you can handle the spasms, and I shall release your legs."

Hermione didn't get a chance to respond as another wave of Cruciatus washed over her. Nearly blind with agony, Hermione only threw her head back against the rigid cushion of the armchair and told herself over and over again that she would prove Snape wrong. She was a Gryffindor, no one could ever take that away from her, and should would _prove_ that she deserved the honor.

_Breath in…breath out…breath in…breath out…_ This time, she kept her muscles as lax as she physically was able; the effort nearly overwhelming her. The spasm worked its way all the way down to her toes before fading into nothing and Hermione's entire body swayed sideways to lean against the sides of the chair.

_Merlin, I feel so weak,_ she thought, sweat coating hr brow even as goose bumps ran all the way up her legs and arms. The pressure disappeared from the legs and she looked at her Professor through half open eyes.

_"_Adequate, Miss Granger," he said stonily, rising from his crouched position, "Adequate."

* * *

**I know this is a horrible place to leave everyone but to continue was to write another 4,ooo words and I really just wasn't up for the task. **

**It's been a while since I've written anything so if I forgot something or maybe my structure isn't quite up to par I hope you'll forgive me. Oh my gosh, I'm at 254 reviews and I am soo excited. Hm...I wonder what people will think of this chapter... **

**God, I'll probably get flames about how Leon isn't vampire-y enough. Or how it's moving too slow. Or how my grammar/spelling ****sucks...grr.  
**

Teaser:: I think I'm going to continue with this scene - it could do with a decent ending. Also, you may see a bit of Dumbledore manipulation (although you may not recognize it for what it truly is). I think I'll have a little Dean/Ron confrontation...maybe. A hint about Harry's dream for sure (I know some of you caught that. Congrats.) and I do believe it's time for Draco to make an appearance in Snape's quarters. How will Hermione react? I'll leave it up to you to stew a bit ;)

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**_Review, damn you! I know you're there!!_**

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	15. Kindness

**Hey, guys. Yes, I know I lied about going away – I fully planned to – and then…well, the story just wouldn't leave me alone. Hopefully most you will forgive me for returning ******** . Chapter fifteen, dedicated to… ****_Chase Young's Daughter _****(for your dedication), ****_Nina and Summerswept _****(for your touching reviews), and ****_ubersnape_**** (for your honesty). **

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**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Hermione's head was swimming, everything sounding as if it was spoken into the end of a tunnel and her body so intimately in tune with itself she could feel every individual jarring pulse throughout her body. Pain was filtered through the haze of exhaustion and apathy.

_Adequate._

That single word seemed to penetrate the barrier of surrealism and Hermione's eyes flickered open. For the second time in the past week, Professor Snape crouched before her; his heavy dark robes pooled around his feet, his lank ebony hair covertly shielding his face, and the faint musky smell of earth and herbs that seemed to be his scent alone teasing her nose. Through heavy-lidded eyes, Hermione slowly traced the severe lines of his face, lines carved out from hard years and a life filled with bitterness. His Romanesque nose would always be the most prominent feature of his face –long, hooked, and slightly uneven from a break that had been less than expertly healed- but it was obvious to Hermione as she met his gaze, that it was his eyes that held all the character.

Depthless pools of obsidian that could burn with such frightening intensity or chill with such cold indifference now watched Hermione with an expression not unlike worry, or fear.

_This slip of a witch will be the death of me, _Snape thought, watching Hermione like a hawk as her eyes teetered in and out of focus. He was sure the only thing keeping her conscious now was the Anti-Swoon Potion he hastily forced down her throat. Had his A_ccio_ ever responded so fast?

_She's coping well though…or, at least better than I would have expected,_ Snape amended reluctantly. Now that she was past panicking, the little chit was allowing a good portion of the Cruciatus spasms to work their way unhindered through her.

_Of course, _he speculated, _she may simply be beyond caring at this point. _Snape couldn't be sure.

Rising from his uncomfortable position, Snape let out a deep breath, the tension radiating off his body in waves as he headed resignedly to his seat on the leather settee. His voluminous robes were now suffocating with his close proximity to the fire but Snape adamantly refused to so much as loosen his collar with a student in the room; it was simply not professional. Settling into the soft leather, one leg propped up on his knee as he turned his attention back to his own spasms; Snape began his soon-to-be weekly vigil of watching Hermione ride out the curse to its end.

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_Potter was breathing heavily, eyes narrowed in anger and his thin frame slouched in exhaustion. Again Snape raised his wand, this time without letting the boy catch his breath or recover, and drove straight into the young wizard's thoughts with a mercilessness that would have done the Dark Lord proud. _

He's not been practicing, _was Snape's first aggravated and obvious observation, _damn you, Potter, did we not warn you this was important? Did the Headmaster not specifically tell you how much was at stake?! At this rate it could be months before you are competent enough to repel the Dark Lord's intrusion.

_Somewhere in the back of Snape's mind, the traitorous image of Miss Granger appeared._

She will be saddled with this bond till Potter's training is complete_, Snape thought; battling within himself once again as to if this was truly the best strategy to be perusing. _

Why not?_ the familiar, cynical voice in the back of his mind reminded him_, We've been over this time and time again. War is only a series of sacrifices for the sake of the end goal – sacrifices that come at any cost. Admit it, Granger is a pawn and only plays a minor role in the scheme of things.

If only the Dark Lord had thought the same…_ Snape thought ruefully, thinking back to not so long ago when the Dark Lord had suddenly seemed to focus all his attention on the Muggleborn witch. Since then, Voldemort had moved on to bigger and better things – namely the werewolf packs, and seemed to completely forget his fleeting vendetta against the girl._

As is the way when dealing with a madman, _Snape thought morbidly as he waited for Potter to build up some kind of defense against his mental intrusions. He could tell the boy's control had come a long way, but not far enough – he needed to master the art of Occlumency before he stood before the Dark Lord. That was their only hope._

The sudden loud crack of splintering wood jerked Snape from his deep reverie, all thoughts of Thursday's lessons with Potter vanishing as he was brought back to the heavy silence of his quarters. Rolling his neck in an attempt to stretch his tight muscles, Snape let his calculating gaze run once more over his unwelcome visitor. She was asleep.

Scowling now for allowing his attentions to wander, Snape quickly rose and strode over to the familiar high back chair, his baritone timbre echoing off the high stone walls as he tried unsuccessfully to wake the slumbering Gryffindor.

"Miss Granger...? Miss Granger, wake up this instant…_Miss Granger!_"

_Merlin, she sleeps like the dead,_ Snape thought, his ire rising as he tapped a long, tapered finger impatiently against his arm.

The witch's riotous mop of curls had been reduced to a strewn mass of tangles and snarls, her head bent at an almost unnatural angle as she sat slumped ungracefully within the arms of the chair. Somehow during the course of the evening her shoes had made their way off the young woman's feet and now stocking-clad legs lay curled up under an irritatingly familiar dusty red blanket.

_I could have sworn I threw that rag out… _Snape thought, eyeing the offending color banefully. _And yet, there it lies. _

Shaking his head and heaving a sigh of exasperation, Snape leaned over the slumbering witch. "Miss Granger, you're going to be late for class if you don't get up soon."

Nearly as soon as the words left his lips, it was as if something had suddenly clicked within the Head Girl's brain and her eyes snapped open; the red blanket sliding down to the floor as she shot up straight in her seat.

"Huh? What? I'm late?! But…" the witch trailed off as she watched her Potions Professor quirk an elegantly shaped eyebrow and step back. "Oh."

"Indeed," the tall, silhouetted figure said, apparently unconcerned as he strode towards the fireplace and grasped a pinch of Floo-Powder out of a low, Jade urn. "If your spasms are through then, Miss Granger, I suggest you take your leave. Your presence here need not be extended any more than necessary."

He watched stonily as the young woman blinked in the bright light of the fireplace before slowly rising from her curled position. For a second the young witch hesitated, almost as if she did not wish to leave her chair.

_Please, Miss Granger, as if you would want to spend the night in the dungeons,_ Snape thought dryly, even as part of his mind puzzled over the slight hesitation in the little Gryffindor. _Or would you…?_

There was a slight falter in her breathing as the witch rose, an almost unperceivable gasp as she came to her feet; her hand unconscientiously jerking to cradle her ribs.

_Merlin help me if she doesn't break that habit, _Snape thought, thinking about how he'd seen her once again grasping her midsection in an effort to center the pain. _If she keeps damaging herself like this without proper healing, it won't be long before those bones fracture. Why didn't she let me heal her?!_

"Thank you for allowing me to stay, Sir," the witch said, coming to stand before him; not quite meeting his gaze but not quite avoiding it either. "I…you were right. I don't think I'd like to be in my rooms alone when…when _this_ happens. I appreciate you allowing me access to your quarters." She met his gaze fleetingly. "I know you don't offer it easily."

Snape fought to keep his usual mask in indifference up in the face of the young witch. When was the last time someone had _thanked_ him for something? _Anything?_ The foreign feeling of gratitude made Snape slightly uncomfortable and he stiffened his spine.

"Save your thanks, Miss Granger," Snape replied curtly, waving it away as if it were come inconsequential bit of fluff. "You would be even more of an encumbrance in your rooms, at least this way I have you at hand should I need to force another Anti-Swoon potion down your throat."

Snape watched as the witch's face fell, her gaze dropping to stare at the tips of his boots once again.

"Oh."

"Speaking of which," Snape continued, his eyes narrowing and his lips thinning into a nearly invisible line, "I had thought that I specifically told you I expected a better performance than Monday's disaster. You were to _allow the curse to run through you. _Was that in anyway unclear, Miss Granger?"

The witch had no response.

The more Snape thought about what could have happened, the more it terrified him. What if she was never able to fully master control over her body? Her body was young, was _weak_, it would not take an unprecedented amount of strain to break it beyond any and all repair. _Why couldn't she see this?_ Did she understand how it felt to look down and see blood on her chin? _Did she know how his heart had pounded?!_ She was too young, too smart, too damn innocent to be marred for the rest of her life because of this ugliness.

"Damn it, Granger," Snape snarled when the young woman continued to stand before him wordlessly. His hand snaked out to grasp her wrist tightly and force it in front of her face. "Can't you see how badly you're shaking? The curse _breaks you_, girl. That is its purpose, it's only goal. You won't last much longer if you continue to act like a sniveling first-year who lacks even the basics of self-control." He released her hand with a snarl of disgust.

Fire flared up in the young Gryffindor's eyes and she immediately met Snape's own smoldering gaze.

"I was trying but the curse, it—"

"It was not enough," Snape snapped, "And you didn't so much as _try_ to fight unconsciousness. I was watching you, you _wanted_ to faint! How many times do I have to tell you, girl, the Cruciatus will do horrible and inhuman things to your body if your mind is not active to prevent it!"

"Perhaps if I didn't have to worry so much about you yelling and insulting me I would be able to cope better!" Hermione shot back venomously, anger bubbling over. "I've tried to get along with you but everything I do seems to only make matters worse! Why are you so hateful and cold to me all the time? Am I truly that unbearable to you? You're my professor yes, but you're also supposed to be my ally! Yet every time you look at me, it's with a sneer or a frown! I'm tired of having to walk around as if I'm on pins and needles with you, wondering if and when you'll snap at me! It's no wonder people call you the bat of the dungeons! I—"

The end of a wand pointed directly at Hermione's neck abruptly cut her off.

"Not another word, Miss Granger," Snape hissed, his breathing heavy and his opposite fist clenched white.

Hermione's gaze flickered to his wands, her face paling as she realized what she'd said. "Professor, I—"

"_Not. Another. Word!_"

The witch fell silent.

"Perhaps," Snape said, his voice deathly quiet in the darkened room, "if I thought you deserved some miniscule semblance of respect, things would be different. But as it stands, _you deserve none._ Your efforts at self-control are pathetic and your whining is intolerable. Your know-it-all expertises are useless here. I've had enough of you for today, _get out._"

"Sir, please—"

Sparks hissed angrily out of the end of his ebony colored wand and Hermione immediately jumped away, her eyes shinning with something akin to regret as she hastily muttered 'Head Girl Rooms' into the green fire and disappeared. With the final _swoosh_ of the fire signaling her departure, Snape swiftly turned away, his un-vented anger eating away at him from the inside.

_How dare she speak to me like that,_ he inwardly raged, _how dare she!__ I keep her secrets, offer her a place to come to, an excuse to use so she can hide herself – what more could she possibly need?! I only threatened and goaded her so she would __concentrate__! Why can't she see that? Did it not work? _

Snape paced back and forth the length of the room.

_What more could she want? I don't understand!_

Comfort.

That single word suddenly echoed in the maelstrom of his thoughts and Snape abruptly stopped in his tracks. Where had he heard that before? That word, that voice.

_The bathroom,_ he realized, thinking back to only the week before where Miss Granger had stood –so angry, so proud, so…lovely- and yelled at him for not understanding what comfort, and reassure, and –_what was it again? Oh yes, - _kindness were.

_What good are those things?_ Snape wondered, _they don't make your adrenaline rush so you can concentrate better, they don't make your resolve stronger, your determination more steadfast, or the pain more bearable. _

And yet, that was what she wanted. Snape sank unsteadily into his usual seat; his anger now depleted leaving him empty and cold. Could he give her that? Comfort, reassurance, _kindness?_ Snape seriously doubted it; he could hardly deal with the grievances of homesick first-years as it was.

He shook his head, she'd have to find those things elsewhere; the Potions Master had nothing left to give.

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Saturday night found Hermione curled up in the small window seat of her tower room, her head resting lightly against the chilled glass pane as she gazed silently out at the setting sun that was just starting to skim to tops of Forbidden Forest.

The night before had been too long, too difficult, for her to do more than curl up with Crookshanks amongst the mountain of soft pillows that littered her bed and pray for a dreamless sleep. Fortunately, even her subconscious had been overly fatigued and Hermione was able to sleep for a record fourteen hours straight without nightmares or the fear of waking up in a puddle of sweat and urine.

For the first time since hearing that the Harry and Ron would be starting their training without her, Hermione was glad they were too busy with school, Quidditch, and Order business to wonder why their best mate had suddenly taken to sleeping late and spending unusually long amounts of time in her room. The practical part of Hermione jumped with glee at her good fortune…but another part of her withered and died as it became obvious the boy were paying less and less attention to her these days. They no longer even questioned why she always had bags under her eyes or why she was spending so much time with Snape in the evenings; the usual answers of 'just preparing for N.E.W.T.s' or 'extra-credit project' or 'you know, _Snape_' was enough to deter them.

Hermione sighed, her hot breath making the chilled glass fog up. _Just once, I wish they wouldn't believe everything I said…_

Only that afternoon Ron had approached her and asked if she wanted to make a quick trip to Hogsmeads with him. It was Saturday so they'd have to be back early to make sure Harry and he could sneak off to Order training on time, but Ron had needed a new box of Sugar-Quills and he looked so excited about asking her to go. Hermione hated herself for lying to him and saying she needed to review her Charms essay, but the truth was she wasn't sure if her body could handle the hilly, treacherous walk down to the village.

She'd declined his offer with a soft smile, but inside she was crying. Merlin how she'd longed to go; to have a bottle of Butterbeer and a peaceful day in the it was not meant to be.

A sudden movement out of the corner of her eye abruptly derailed Hermione from her musings; a slight unnatural play of shadows had caught her attention down on the grounds. Hermione craned her neck more, looking hard for any sign of movement.

After a bit, Hermione thought she must have imagined it, but then _there,_ the distinct shadows where there no people starting moving once again; heading directly towards the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. The shadows were cast from the angle of the setting sun and just for a moment, the illusion seemed to slip and a head full of copper colored hair appeared for a split second before disappearing once more. Hermione let out a breath of relief as she realized it must be Harry and Ron under the invisibility cloak.

_But they're supposed to be having lessons tonight. What are they doing out near the forest…? Is that where they take their lessons?_ Hermione pressed herself closer against the cool glass and narrowed her eyes trying to better see the two shadows in the distance. As they reached the edge of the dark forest, Hermione clearly saw a faint ripple of movement spread through the undergrowth and she unconsciously held her breath.

_Surely that can't be Professor Moody. It moves way too fast…_

There was a flash of silver as the invisible figures disappeared into the thick canopy of the trees; and then they were gone.

Hermione lay back against the wall; her mind a jumble of different scenarios about why her two best friends were taking their Order lessons in the Forbidden Forest.

_It's out of the way,_ she supposed, _plus there's all manner of creepy things in there to practice on… I suppose it wouldn't be too far fetch to think that's where they've been going this whole time. _Hermione frowned though; the forest was a dangerous place, and what had that flash of silver been?

Sighing deeply with frustration and a sense of uselessness, Hermione once again found herself wishing she had been born just a couple months earlier…

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For the next few days Hermione was still feeling the draining effects of her experience with an Unforgivable. Three bouts of Cruciatus, no matter that they hadn't even been that potent, were certainly enough to keep her virtually bedridden for the remainder of the weekend. Reading gave Hermione headaches, writing while her hand was still afflicted in shakiness was pointless, wandering up and down stairwells made her breath come heavy and sweat slide down her back; by Sunday evening Hermione was ready to go crawling back to Snape begging for a Pepper-Up potion.

_He'd probably deny me even that though, _she thought, huffing, _He'd claim that addiction was too much of a chance and then kick me out of his chambers for taking up his time with useless chatter. _

Monday morning however, Hermione was met with a surprise as she sat down for breakfast at the Gryffindor table. A little manila colored envelope with a lime green bow was propped up against a goblet at her usual seat.

Curious, Hermione sat down and opened the strange little letter.

_Dear Miss Granger, _it read.

_I always make it a habit to watch over my Heads with particular care, for they are usually very determined students and I often find they forget their health when faced with more pressing issues. _

_You, my dear, are no exception. _

_I've been monitoring you a bit over the last two weeks— _Hermione's face blanched and she jerked her head up to cast a hasty look at the Head Table. _Please, Merlin, say he didn't notice anything strange!_

--_and have noticed you seem to be lagging a bit under the strain. I can only imagine what with worrying over Mister Potter and Mister Weasley, along with N.E.W.T.s and your assistant position, you must be feeling rather thinly stretched. _

Hermione let out a sigh of relief and continued to read.

_A couple of your teachers have come to me expressing their concerns for your welfare so I feel the need to ask: are you quite sure you are up to handling the position of Head Girl this year? Nobody would blame you if you aren't, I'm only asking because –_

Hermione let the letter drift down to rest in her lap as hot tears pricked her eyes. _They don't think I'm doing a good job; they want me to give up my position…_

She caught sight of the golden badge pinned to the front of her austere black robes and bit her lip as tears clogged her throat. The Head Girl position was so much more than a simple honor to Hermione; it was a symbol of all that she had worked for for six years. It was a symbol of acceptance, and of _belonging_.

_No, _Hermione thought, inwardly shaking herself, _I worked so hard for this. I'll do better, I'll make sure everything goes smoothly. I want this honor, I can handle it. I'm not giving this up. _

Inconspicuously drying her tears, Hermione hurriedly read through the last of the letter.

_If you still feel yourself up to the task, then good luck and remember, Hermione, if you ever have need for me – I'm only a staircase away. _

_Regards,_

_ Albus Dumbledore_

_ Headmaster Of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry _

_p.s. -When I was younger (many long years ago, mind you) and I found myself lacking the energies to attend to all the things I wanted to get done, I used to drink a special herbal mix my grandfather developed. Got me through the last two years of my apprentice it did. I've taken the liberty of mixing you a batch (it's in the purple jug) and, should you need more any time soon, I've specifically instructed the House Elves in its making. Happy Monday to you, Miss Granger, and good luck. _

_At least he still believes in me,_ Hermione thought, smiling a little at the thought of the Headmaster. Setting the missive aside, Hermione curiously scanned the table, looking for the purple jug Dumbledore had mentioned.

_Ah, there it is!_ Strangely enough, no one else seemed to even take notice as Hermione reached across the middle of the table and grasped the medium sized jug by the handle. Pouring herself a liberal amount, Hermione hesitantly took a sip, and then wrinkled her nose as she realized it tasted almost exactly like grapefruit juice.

_Yuck_, she thought, but at the same time felt a quick burst of energy race straight through her making Hermione's blood pump faster and her nerves tingle. _Wow, this stuff is strong. I wonder why he's never sold the recipe. He would make a fortune. _

Over the course of the next three days, the grapefruit juice concoction quickly became the only thing the young witch drank.

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"Miss Granger, I don't see your homework in the pile," Professor McGonagall, her rough Scottish brogue laced with disapproval.

Hermione paled drastically.

For the past five days she'd been reporting as planned to Professor Snape's classroom every day after dinner to do her 'assistant duties', or as Hermione liked to call them – 'long nights where I do the most disgusting chores Professor Snape can come up with, all while being blatantly ignored'. By the time Hermione returned to her rooms, it was late at night and she was usually exhausted and covered in some kind of slimy excrete. Without the Headmaster's grapefruit juice elixir, Hermione was sure she would have fallen asleep in the shower on more than once occasion. But now, as she gazed into the stern, dark blue eyes of her mentor and idol, Hermione cursed herself over and over again for letting that single assignment slip past her.

_Of all the teachers, why did it have to be the one I respect most?_

"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione said, her voice hushed and tight as if she was in physical pain, "it must have slipped my mind."

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned but all she said was a curt, "See that it does not happen again."

The entire Advance Transfiguration class watched the exchange with wide eyes filled with disbelief. The unfathomable well of knowledge, Miss Know-It-All Hermione Granger, had failed to turn in a graded assignment. The world turning upside down,

"Hermione, are you okay?" Ron asked, his arm coming around her shoulder as she hid her face behind a curtain of long, curling locks.

"No," came the chocked whisper, and Ron sent a pleading look towards Harry for help.

"Hey now, 'Mione, it's not the end of the world," Harry said from her other side, "It's just one assignment. It won't kill you—"

"It was not just _one assignment_, Harry," Hermione interrupted tightly, "I'm supposed to be a role model for everyone. How does it look if I just _forget_ to turn in assignment?"

Harry sighed. "Hermione, let it go. No body expects you to be perfect. It's one lousy grade—"

"Don't you say another word, Harry James Potter," came the cutting reply, "You wouldn't understand."

"'Mione—" Harry didn't get to finish as the bell for the next class abruptly cut him off; Hermione's chair pushing hard away from the table and the trails of her robe whipping out of the classroom before either boy could even rise.

"Brilliant, mate," Ron muttered, "Now she'll really want to be my partner in Muggle Studies."

Harry sent him a glare that clearly said 'as if you could have done any better'. Feeling slightly dejected, both Gryffindors gathered their books and set out to try to catch up with their distraught friend.

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**Once again, I did not get to include everything I wanted to in this chapter. Those of you who were looking forward to Draco reappearing, both him and Snape will get the ****_entire next chapter._**** I already know it will be my favorite chapter because I designed it to be the turning point in Hermione/Severus's relationship (I know how much you all have been looking forward to that). It's going .awesome. **

**But in the meantime – REVIEW!! ****_Review, damn you, I know you're there!_**

_**I REALLY WOULD LIKE TO BREAK THE 300 MARK THIS CHAPTER SO PLEASE - REVIEW!**_

_I'm curious, was the confrontation in the beginning okay? My beta's currently in limbo so I had no outside input for this chapter (and I can't read my work objectively). Hopefully it was believable enough. I love hearing what you guys think. _Now I gotta go hunt down that beta... :)


	16. Fire and Trust

**This is my special treat - over 7,500 words. Just for you all :) Thanks for making writing this story such a great experience for me. I've learned a lot over the past couple months that I never would have gotten to at school and it's just been very fulfilling. I'm coming back to the story full time now that it's summer and, for the first time in my life, _I have absolutely nothing planned. _I can't decide if that's depressing or exciting...both I suppose. I'd like to do a little shout-out to **_BubblyBabs, _**who is kind of new to FanFiction but took the time to write me a lovely review. Yeah - I do read those. They make it all worth it :) Okay, I'm really nervous about this chapter, but I posted it as it is and I hope you all like it. **

**-fingers crossed-**

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**Moonlight Shadows - Chapter Fifteen**

"I heard you forgot an assignment in Transfiguration today," Neville said later that day, giving Hermione a sympathetic look as he took the seat next to her in Herbology.

Hermione nodded mutely, her heart still heavy after that morning's dismal beginning.

"Don't worry, we all forget something at one point or another," Neville continued, urging her into a half smile, "Despite what everyone says, you can't be perfect, Hermione. People just aren't made that way."

"I know, Neville," Hermione said finally, letting out a deep sigh, "I just…Merlin, I don't know; I have these expectations of myself, and other people have expectations of me…I just don't want to let anyone down."

"You could never let anyone down, Hermione," Neville said, a smile breaking out across his kind face, "It's not in you. Relax, everything will work out."

Hermione let the Neville's contagious smile coax one of her own and she shook her head ruefully, "You sure know how to make a girl feel better about herself, Neville."

The shy boy turned a bright pink and suddenly seemed to find the patterns on their wooden table very interesting.

"Uh, thanks, 'Mione," he said, coughing a little into his hand as he cleared his voice.

Hermione inwardly shook her head. Neville was such a nice boy, and a good friend too, but he was as shy and bashful as a Pigmy Puff.

"So, Neville, how's your apprenticeship with Professor Sprout going?" Hermione asked, casting a quick glace up to the front of the greenhouse where the kindly, Head of Hufflepuff was currently showing the class the proper way to transplant seedlings.

"Oh, Pomona is wonderful!" Neville exclaimed, his shyness receding as abruptly as it had come and his eyes lighting up.

"You're in a first name basis with Professor Sprout?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Of course, the bond between an apprentice and his master is very sacred. You're closer than teacher and student, you're…kindred. Being given the honor to address each other with your given names is a sign of mutual respect and trust—" Neville suddenly stopped as he remembered just _who_ he was talking to. "I…you didn't know that? Don't you and Professor Snape…?"

Hermione dropped her gaze to the table slab, her mouth in a tight line. "No actually." Damn her if that prick to her heart didn't sting.

"Oh Merlin, Hermione, I'm sorry. God, I really stepped in that one. You know, it doesn't really matter if Professor Snape calls you by your first name. It's just a silly tradition…"

"You don't have to patronize me, Neville, it's okay. I already knew Professor Snape didn't respect me—" Hermione said softly, without fire.

"That's not true! Of course he does! He wouldn't have accepted you as his apprentice if he didn't respect you on some level!" Neville insisted fiercely.

"No, it's true. He told me himself." Hermione gave a broken, humorless bark of empty laughter. "Earlier this week actually; he was yelling at me and told me I didn't deserve even 'a minuscule of respect'."

Neville looked shocked. "Merlin, I'm so sorry, Hermione. Geez, what a bastard. Why do you let him talk to you like that? You don't _have_ to be his apprentice you know."

Hermione could only shake her head softly, the weight on her chest feeling as though it could crush her at any moment. "No, it's okay, Neville. I…I would have liked to think Professor Snape liked, or respected me, even a little, but it's not important…"

Neville gave her a little squeeze on the shoulder and a sad smile. "If you say so, 'Mione, if you say so..."

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That Sunday night found Hermione in unusually high spirits as she sat in a secluded corner of the Gryffindor common room. She was nearly done with the eight-foot long Transfiguration essay that was due the next morning; only the finishing grammatical touches and a couple citations to be added in and it would be complete.

_See?_ she told herself, _I knew I could handle this. Everything is fine. _

Hermione smiled sleepily at the long curling parchment that trailed across her table and dropped down to roll across the floor; all the skipped meals and free periods spent in the library over the past two weeks had certainly paid off. Her paper was 'Outstanding' quality, and Hermione knew it.

The Head Girl threw a glance at a large grandfather clock that sat ticking in the corner of the room and gave a happy sigh. Finishing her essay was not the only reason the young witch was feeling lighthearted, indeed the merciful absence of the Dark Lord's summons this weekend had given Hermione's tired body a much needed reprieve from her weekly tortures.

_You don't know the Professor won't be summoned tonight, _the cautious voice in the back of Hermione's mind spoke up, _it's not like Voldemort to skip his weekly reports. The Professor could still be summoned…_

Hermione tried to ignore the sudden feeling of someone squeezing her heart as she gathered up her books. _It might not happen…it could be my lucky day…_

Across the room, a pair of piercing blue eyes watched Hermione prepare to leave and the young wizard felt a familiar rush of frustration and determination rush through him.

_Merlin, I've been working on this bird for _weeks_ and she still doesn't even pay the slightest bit of attention to me, _Dean thought resentfully, _for being such a know-it-all, she sure is oblivious_. _Why the hell would I stick around with her after class and talk about boring things like copy-cat charms if I didn't like her? Is she just stupid?! I offer to carry her books, I always say hi to her at breakfast, _plus_ I asked her to be my partner in Advance Charms and she _still_ doesn't get it! What the hell?! _

Dean scowled as he went over the past three week in his head; he'd been charming, and attentive, and told her she looked hot with her hair down. _Doesn't that count for anything?!_

_And yet _still_ she hangs around Weasley,_ Dean thought, miffed beyond belief that the bumbling redhead could even hold a candle to him. _What does he do? Grins with that goofy, retarded smile of his and then turns so red he looks like a fucking tomato! _Dean's mood darkened as he remembered hearing that Weasley had asked Hermione to Hogsmead last weekend.

_I wonder how far he got with her…_ Dean wondered, raking his eyes down Hermione robe-less body. _Thank Merlin she's sitting near the fireplace…_

Indeed if he looked closely, Dean could still trace the oh-so-enticing lines that had been shown off in that tight little blue number Hermione wore to Potter's birthday party. _Shame she doesn't dress like that more often_, Dean mused,_ but then again, if she did, I'd have even more competition. No, it's better this way; plus once you get that damn robe out of the way the view is _so_ much better._

Hermione bent down to roll up her parchment and Dean licked his lips as her school issued skirt rode high up her legs exposing the smooth, creamy tanned skin of her thighs. _Merlin, just a little higher_, he begged, and then nearly groaned out loud in frustration as the witch straightened up, parchment in hand and completely ignorant of her silent watcher.

_That's it, enough of these shitty Slytherin, take-it-slow tactics, _Dean decided, pushing off the wall he was leaning against and striding toward Hermione, _time for a little bit of Gryffindor charm. _

"Hey, Hermione," a familiar voice said from behind her and Hermione turned, bag in one hand, her parchment in the other, to see Dean standing there; his sparkling white smile in place and his eyes friendly.

"Oh, hi, Dean," Hermione said distractedly, hefting her bag onto her shoulder and moving to step past him.

"Woah, hey now," he said, shifting to the side and blocking her path once more, "We just started talking. Do you really want to leave already?"

"Oh, um…" Hermione caught the curious stares of a couple Gryffindor around the room and blushed slightly; Dean was making a little scene and people were starting to notice. "No, I mean it's fine, it's just that I just finished with my essay and I'm really tired—"

"Want to go on a date with me?" he interrupted loudly. _That _certainly turned a few heads.

"I—what?" Hermione asked, confused and now completely embarrassed; the entire Gryffindor common room was now watching the exchange. She caught the surprised faces of Harry and Ron and quickly looked away.

"A date. With me." Dean repeated, his smile fading a little, "Would you like to _go?_"

Hermione felt flustered and rushed under the scrutinizing stare of the young wizard in front of her and the heavy gazes of her peers. _Merlin, why is he doing this here of all place?!_ _Why couldn't he have asked me in private like normal people do?! But no! He had to make this scene! Merlin, what do I do now?! _ The truth was Hermione always considered Dean a little arrogant, a little too…cocky, for her tastes. _Ah! I can't say no, everyone will think I'm a bitch for embarrassing Dean, but I don't want to say yes—_

"Having trouble deciding?" Dean asked, his voice still light though his eyes held no humor, "Here, let me help you." Quick as a flash, he snatched Hermione's finished essay clean out of her grasp and dangled in precariously by two fingers over the nearby fire. "Come on, Granger, it's just a date; I'll even let you bring a book if you want!"

A good number of the people seated in the common room broke into good-natured laughter as they watched Dean dangle the think roll of parchment above the heated flames. He was a likable guy and any girl would be lucky to have caught his attention; no one wondered why Hermione was hesitating.

"Dean! That's not funny! Give me my essay now!" Hermione said, her serious voice only betraying the slightest bit of panic as she watched two weeks worth of exhausting work dangle by two fingers over the open fire.

"Just say 'yes', Hermione!" Dean teases, his fingers slipping for a moment and then snapping shut once more around the paper. "Woah, that was a close one! You better say 'yes', I don't think I can hang on much longer!"

Hermione's heart lurched as she watched her paper start to fall, and then slammed into her chest as Dean caught it. _Why was he doing this! God damn you, Dean! I don't want to go on a date with you! Do you realize how long it took to write that paper? How tired and in how much pain I've been over these past weeks?! I refuse to play this stupid childish game! Give me my paper!_

"Dean, this isn't funny! Give it back!" Tears started to prick Hermione's eyes and she fought to keep the desperation out of her voice. "Dean, I'm serious. This isn't a game, give me my essay back!"

"It's not that hard, Granger," Dean replied, his voice now mocking, "Surely the Head Girl can handle a date with little old me?" The laughter around the common room was louder now but those who knew Hermione could see the rigidity of her stance and the way her hands were balled into fists; she was not playing about. Hermione saw Harry and Ron start to rise from their seats on the sofa and quickly made a decision; she didn't want this to be a scene – she just wanted her essay back, _now._

"Dean—" Hermione made a wild grab for her parchment. Unfortunately, it was not in fact, her lucky day.

The wizard stumbled back in an attempt to avoid Hermione's arm and tripped over one of the first year's pet cats that lay curled up near the fire. For a moment, time seemed to stand still and the entire room gasped as Dean tumbled backwards towards the open fireplace. At the last minute however, the young wizard managed to flip around and catch himself against the mantle, his face inches above where Hermione's parchment landed and began to burned into a charred, blacked ball of ashes.

"_**No!**_" Hermione shouted, her body reacting only a split second after she saw her precious essay begin to burn. Acting without thinking, Hermione leapt forward and tried to grab to the destroyed assignment out of the flames with her bare hand.

Suddenly two pairs of strong were wrapped around her waist, hulling her backwards just as the tips of her fingers brushed the blackened edges of her paper. Harry, Ron, and Hermione landed in a heap in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, all three of them breathing heavily; two in panic, and one in pain, anger, and anguish.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, what did you think you were doing?!" Ron shouted at her, grabbing her now red and badly blistered hand in his own and looking it over with furious eyes.

Harry turned to the rest of the common room, "Everybody out!" They obeyed; the fury in the Boy-Who-Lived's face far too dangerous to mess around with.

Dean, his face white and his hand shaking, stepped forward, "For fuck sakes, Granger, I wasn't going to bloody toss it in the fire! Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"Get out of here, Dean, before I assign you detention for a month with Filch for theft of another student's possessions!" Harry shouted. Dean opened his mouth to say something but Harry cut him off, "Don't think I won't! I'm still a Prefect and I have every authority to do it!"

Dean disappeared through the archway to the boy dormitories without so much as a backwards glance; his proverbial tail between his legs.

"Merlin's beard, are you okay, Hermione?" Ron asked, his voice laced heavily with worry as he watched his best friend continue to stare into the flames as it ate away at the parchment, her eyes filled with such pain Ron would have thought she'd lost more than a bloody essay.

"Hermione!" Harry said loudly, giving her a sharp shake, "Hermione, we have to get you to the Infirmary. That's a nasty burn you've got, let Madame Pomphery have a look at it."

The young witch bottom lip trembled slightly, but she let Ron hull her gently to her feet.

"Hermione?" he asked softly, the devastated look in her eyes scaring him, "Hermione, please say something."

The witch swallowed back tears. "The burn's worse than it looks, I'm okay—"

A frighteningly different kind of pain suddenly shot up Hermione's forearm, her gasp of pain loud even to her ears. _No, please, not now…not now!_ Snape's Dark Mark was burning.

"What? What's wrong, 'Mione?" Harry asked, his face pale with worry.

"I—I need to go," Hermione managed to say, cradling her injured hand in her uninjured one. "It's late, I don't want you guys to get in trouble for being out after curfew. Please, stay here, I'll spend the night in the Infirmary."

"No way!" Ron protested, slipping a protective arm around her waist and urging her towards the portrait hole, "Harry and I are coming with you. Aren't we, Harry?"

"No!" Hermione interrupted, shrugging off Ron's comforting arm, everything inside her sharp with panic and hurt. "I'll go, you two stay."

"Herm, comm'on—"

"Okay, 'Mione, if that's what you really want," Harry said reluctantly, conceding even though Hermione could see how much it cost him. Harry didn't want to leave her, and that touched Hermione, but he was willing to respect her wishes, and that touched her even more.

"_Harry_," Ron said incredulously, "We can at least walk her there…"

"I…I'd like some time alone, if that's okay with you two," Hermione said softly, "I just…you have no idea how much effort I put into that assignment, and he—he just…" Hermione's voice broke and she turned away.

"Hermione—_"_

"I'll see you two tomorrow," Hermione said, hastily exiting the common room and once again leaving her two friends behind in the dust.

"_Hermione…"_

The young witch hurried down the stairs, careful not to miss a step and trip as hot tears blurred her vision.

_Stop that! _she yelled at herself, _it was—it was just an essay. Just a piece of paper…it… god damn it, it was perfect! It was all my hard work and sacrifice tied up in a fucking bow and now it's gone! I have nothing to show for all my trouble. Nothing!_ Tears of frustration built up, a single one escaping to cascade down her cheek. Hermione swiped at it angrily. _Stop it! Do you want Snape to ask why you're _crying, _for Merlin's sakes?! _

Hermione glanced down once more at the shiny, reddened palm of her hand, the delicate skin now littered with liquid filled blisters, and cursed herself yet again. _Uh! How could I be so stupid? Who the hell sticks their hand in a fire for a stupid piece of parchment?! _

Somewhere in the back of Hermione's mind, a tiny voice squeaked, '_I do', _but she ignored it.

_Stupid! Stupid! And now Snape's being summoned? _And _I'm late! Why? Why, Merlin, would you do this to me? What could I possibly have done to deserve this?! What_?! Hermione wondered what Professor Snape would say when he saw her hand, and very nearly cringed at the mental images of his scathing remarks that were sure to come. _Well then,_ Hermione decided, quickly unknotting her school-issued tie and transfiguring it into a suitable bandage to wrap her hand in; _he just won't need to know about that, will he?_

Quietly entering the empty Potions classroom, Hermione headed directly to the stone wall behind the Professor's desk and tapped her wand three times against the hardened stone. Obediently, the wards dropped and the wall parted for its acknowledged guest.

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Far beneath the chilly grounds of Hogwarts, in a musky tunnel barely big enough for a grown man to stand up straight in, two shadows limped slowly along. One, a young man with his platinum blond hail slipping from the carefully bound ribbon that held it back, was leaning heavily against the taller, sturdier figure. Above them the clocks chimed midnight.

"Damn it, Severus," Draco Malfoy panted, pain lacing his voice, "How much farther till this bloody tunnel ends?"

"Just a little further, Draco," the older wizard replied grimly, his obsidian eyes filled with worry as he watched his godchild struggle to keep upright.

Outwardly, Snape appeared his usual collected self, cool demeanor and all, but in the inside the wizard was a turbulent storm of exhaustion, anxiety, and pain. The Dark Lord's temper was becoming more and more radical and irrational with each setting sun. He could be wearing his sly, thin-lipped smile when Snape arrived, only for it to disappear mere moments later and be replaced with the dark, ferocious rage that made Lord Voldemort the most feared wizard in all of Britain. The Dark Lord had always had a certain sense of disregard for human life, but the degree to which he dehumanized and humiliated his underlings was inhuman. Tonight had been once of those soulless nights where death once again seemed merciful; three long, full-length bouts of Crucio had easily brought Severus to his knees. The pain still rocketed through him.

Snape knew that with each Horcrux the Order destroyed, that piece of soul returned to its original host, but the Potions Master also wondered if perhaps the returned soul fragments may have something to do with the Dark Lord's strange lose of control over his emotions and baser instincts. He had to remember to talk to Albus about that later…

"Thank Merlin," came a sudden, deep sigh of relief from beside him, and Snape realized they had come to the entrance to his quarters. He looked down at Draco.

His normally pale skin had waned to the sickly parlor of ashen gray, his hair was falling loose and covered in sweat, grime, and tiny speaks of blood. Unlike Snape, the Malfoy heir had not suffered under the crippling effects of the Crucio, but instead had been thrown to the center of the circle that night and forced to duel for his life. They said the Malfoy blood was thinning, a dynasty of power coming to an end at the hands of a pathetic whelp of a boy. They threw him to one of Greyback's underlings; 'play time' they said.

And _play _he had. Dueling for the better part of his life had served Draco well that night against a disgusting mutt of an animal called Bearpaw. They had tumbled, and crawled, scratched, and bled, but in the end it had been luck, not skill, that guided Draco's severing hex straight through the werewolf's bulging neck. Bearpaw had bled out within seconds, and Draco had been accepted one step closer to the inner circle. The Malfoy line was as strong as ever, and no one questioned it. Draco could only be thankful he hadn't been bitten by the deranged mutt of a beast.

Now Snape tapped his wand rhythmically against the stone slab that stood before him, and helped the injured youth through. Draco had lost at least a pint of blood that night before Snape had been able to stench the flow, in addition sporting to a multitude of cut, bruises, and scrapes; nothing serious but he needed to be healed and Snape had no choice but to lead him through the door to his chambers.

Hermione heard the familiar grinding sound of the hidden tunnel passage door opening but she didn't open her eyes. All she knew was her heartbeat; the quick, rapid patters against her chest that assured her she was still indeed alive and that the curse had not ripped her body into pieces as she sometimes expected.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._ Hermione buried her head further into the comforting side of her chair and tightened her grip about her middle as bile once again rose in her throat. _Just a little longer, _she pleaded with herself,_ it's going to be okay—it's going be okay…_ A choked sob was muffled against the material of her chair. _No, it's not. Everything is on fire, I can't breath, my chest feels tight and the air is too thick. _A bead of sweat slipped down her brow. _Make it stop…_

The sudden sound of murmuring broke through Hermione's haze of pain and she stopped breathing for a second. _Snape wasn't alone, which meant…_

Her eyes fluttered open a little and Hermione was met with the sight of her callous, hardened Potions professor helping Draco Malfoy carefully ease down into a lying position on the settee. Malfoy looked a little roughened up and there was blood on the hem of his robes, but Hermione couldn't tell if he was in any kind of pain or distress. The only emotion on his face was weariness and perhaps a little impatience.

"Severus, she's awake," Draco muttered clandestinely, catching the heavy-lidded gaze of the pale Gryffindor that sat curling up in the arms of a large chair on the opposite side of the side. _Merlin, Granger… _he thought, taking in her rumpled appearance and haunted eyes.

"Of course she's awake," Snape snapped, his gaze never wavering as he gently probed the deep, but clean, five-inch cut that ran across the younger wizard's shoulder. "I explained to you how the bonding works – what I feel, she feels. Unfortunately, she's currently _feeling_ the after affects of the Cruciatus. She couldn't sleep through that if she wanted to."

"Wait, she's feeling _everything_? The full affects of the curse?" Draco asked, his gaze snapping back to Snape.

"Yes," the older wizard replied, his voice strained, "Everything. Of course, she's doesn't have the experience to control the curse like I do, but she's learning…"

"How is she even conscious?!" Draco whispered furiously, everything he'd ever known about the know-it-all Gryffindor suddenly fading into the background as he imagined having the full force of three bouts of the Dark Lord's Crucio running through him. _Even I couldn't stay conscious through that,_ Draco admitted truthfully, _And I've known the Cruciatus's sting since I was six. How the hell can she possibly—_

"I simply impressed upon her the importance that she learn some self-control," Snape said, as if reading Draco's mind while he ran his wand over the youth's wound in complex sequences. The flesh began knitting itself back together.

"You mean you intimidated her till she'd rather face the curse than face you," Draco translated and Snape's eyes flashed.

"Silence, boy, before I send you back to your common room and leave the rest of these wounds to heal on their own," the Potion Master threatened, and the young Slytherin dropped his gaze ruefully to fall silent.

Covertly, Snape let his gaze wander over to where Hermione sat. _Good girl, _he sighed inwardly, seeing that, while she was undoubtedly still in pain, she was at least conscious and still slightly relaxed. Her eyes had once again fallen shut, but Snape could see the labored breaths sporadically escaping her parted lips and the way the muscles of her sock-clad feet clenched and then unclenched; oh yes, she was definitely awake and probably hating every second of it.

Across the room, Hermione felt as though someone had dealt her a blow to the gut.

_Merlin, he doesn't even really care about me does he?_ Hermione thought, tears clogging her throat, _If he did, he would treat me like he does Malfoy. He hasn't once raised his voice at __**him**__, or told __**him**__ how stupid he is, or ridiculed __**him**__ for being in pain._ _Instead he lets him sit there, heals him, he's even talking to him! _Some strange form of jealously bubbled up in Hermione as she opened her eyes again and continued to watch the Professor heal Malfoy with the care of a parent and the skill of a medi-witch. Hermione quickly shut her eyes again as she saw the two wizards begin to rise. _So nice that Malfoy is healed_, she thought bitterly, hating every moment she was forced to stay here with a man who hated her, in a room that made her feel so achingly alone, cursed by an unforgivable hex to which the only cure was to surrender herself to it. _He must hate me…_

_It's not fair, _she thought, her head turning back onto its side as a tear slipped down her cheek. _It's not fair. I can't do this anymore, not like this… Merlin, I have to get out of here! I don't want to be here! I don't want to see _him, _be with _him, _deal with _him_! I just can't do this anymore! I want my room, I want my bed and my books, I want my mom…"_ Hysteria built up in Hermione like water behind a dam. She had to get out of there!

Forcing her eyes open, she squinted in the firelight just in time to see the Professor and Malfoy disappear into one of the unknown rooms that branched off the sitting room. Now was her chance. Hermione swung her legs down from the seat, chocking back a cry and holding her spine rigid as spasm wormed its way down her back. _Not now! I have to leave! I have to get out of here! Away from this! Away from him!_ Forgetting her shoes and her pain, Hermione hulled herself up into a standing position with the help of the side of the high back chair and began the short, agonizing walk to the fire and her way back to the comfort of her own room. By the time Hermione stood panting against the mantel of the fireplace, she felt like giving up and curling into a wretched ball of tears. Her legs were shaking –badly- but the need to escape was stronger than ever.

Reaching for the Floo Powder, it suddenly felt as though a bucket of icy water had been poured over her head when the familiar, dangerous tone of the Professor reached her ears.

"And where," came the low, baritone question, "could you possibly plan to be going, Miss Granger?

Hermione spun around to find Snape barely eight inches away from her, his towering height making her seem even smaller than she already felt. "I—I'm leaving," Hermione managed, her chin tilting up a little despite her shaky stance, "I-I don't want to stay here anymore. It—it's not working. I don't want to stay."

"It doesn't matter what you want or don't want, Miss Granger," Snape said, his voice hard, "Now go sit down before you collapse, foolish girl. I've had enough of these pathetic displays of defiance—"

"Shut up!" Hermione yelled, everything inside her breaking at once, "Just leave me alone! Just let me _be!_" She tried to reach for the Floo once more but Snape was too fast and snatched her wrist.

"I said you're not going anywhere!" he barked, his face almost touching hers.

"I don't want to stay! I _hate_ it here! I hate everything about this place!" Hermione screamed at him, her other hand scrambling for her wand, not exactly sure what she would do with it once she got it but knowing that she would feel safer with it in her grasp.

"Stop this this instant, Miss Granger," the Potions Master commanded, intercepting her other wrist and pinning the two together in front of her. "You're agitating the curse even more! Do you like the pain, Miss Granger? Stop it!"

"Let me go," Hermione cried, her voice breaking and coming out in little sobs, "Let me go. I want to leave. Please, let me go."

"Miss Granger…" Snape didn't know what to say, he'd seen the little witch in pain, but he'd never actually seen her break like this. It scared him.

Hermione stiffened again as the curse hit her again, this time without warning and she felt her legs collapse beneath her. She knew she was crying openly now, supported only by two strong arms that held her up against dark, woolen robes, but she couldn't seem to make herself stop. Everything was falling apart around her; her friendship, her school work, her _life_. The pain knifed its way into her heart and then _twisted_.

"Miss Granger…"

Hermione heard the Professor's voice -lower now, almost cautious- and without the anger that had been present before but still, the fact that he continued to call her 'Miss Granger' was like a stab to her already bleeding heart. Being able to address someone by their given name was a sign of mutual respect and trust, Hermione remembered, and the reality that he didn't respect or trust her was enough in and of itself to make Hermione want to run away.

_He doesn't respect anything I do, he can't stand being around me, he doesn't trust me with anything of importance, he's barely spoken to me without yelling, he never has any patience for my questions or when I just need to cry a little. He hates me. I can't be around a man who hates me. Merlin, I just can't…_

Snape looked down at the little bundle of sobbing witch that was currently crying so hard he surprised her bones didn't break. Her shoulders and back shook with each slightly muffled sob and her pinned hands were clenched so tight they were white. Snape didn't know what to do. The brave little chit always looked so strong, so ready to give as she got; guilt churned sickeningly in Snape's gut as he held her shaking body close.

"Miss Granger…"

Weakly, she tried to push him away but the tiny shove barely even wrinkled his robes. Swallowing tightly, Snape bent and gently slipped a hand beneath her knees before hulling her up against him and settling into the soft leather of the settee. "Come here, little fool."

"Lemme' go," she whispered, her voice raw as she squirmed in his grip, "_Please."_ Another sob hiccupped out and she buried her head shamefully into the buttoned front of his chest.

"Stop that," he said, equally as softly, "At least wait until the spasms stop. Then we'll talk."

Hermione shook her head roughly. "No, I want to leave." The muffled sounds of jagged crying continued.

"I need to make sure you don't hurt yourself any more than you already have," Snape said soothingly, his hand ghosting lighting over her rib cage.

Hermione flinched away and met his gaze with furious eyes. "What the hell do you care?! You haven't shown an ounce of concern for me since this all first came around! I've tried to work with you; I've tried to understand why you act the way you do! I've tried to find out why the hell you hate me so much! Well you know what? I'm done!" Hermione's voice broke as another spasm crept through her. "I'm done," she whispered, her spine straight as a rod and her arms creeping around her middle once more.

"I don't hate you, Miss Granger," Snape said, prying her arms _away_ from her ribs and settling them up against his chest where they held dark fabric in tights fists. Snape could _feel_ her body clenching and unclenching. _It's never been this bad before, _Snape realized.

"Yes, you do. You've always hated me," Hermione whispered, sweat gathering at her brow and her breathing coming unsteadily. "You yell at me, and you insult me, and you threaten me." She drew crossed legs up against her, suddenly feeling very cold. "I—I can't handle it. I don't really have thick skin, Professor, it…it hurts when you do those things. You wouldn't hurt me if you didn't hate me."

Her logic was so single mindedly Gryffindor it shook Snape. For being such a complex, brilliant young woman, Hermione Granger had the emotional understanding of a five-year old. '_You wouldn't hurt me if you didn't hate me'. Merlin, what is that supposed to mean?! I snap at everyone! I yell at everyone! I insult everyone! Why should she be any different?_

"It isn't personal," Snape managed to say, searching frantically for words.

"Yes it is, you treat Malfoy like a human being," Hermione murmured hopelessly, "Obviously I lack whatever it is that makes him a better person." Tears slipped unnoticed down her cheeks and her arms traitorously slipped down around her waist again.

"How I treat Mister Malfoy is none of your concern," Snape snapped curtly, immediately regretting it as the witch in his lap shied away from him. He sighed and tried to urge her arms back around his shoulders. She refused to let go. "Miss Granger, let go."

"No."

"Miss Granger…" Snape trailed off helplessly, he didn't have anything to say; everything she argued was true. He was, at times cruel to her, but not because he hated her. The truth was he did admire her, for her steadfastness and even mindedness, maybe even more for her passion and loyalty. Those were not traits to be over looked or underestimated.

"I don't feel well," Hermione said softly, indeed her whole stomach was rolling and bile rising slowly up her throat.

"It's because you're tense, and hurting," Snape said, _and distraught, and maybe a little scared._ Awkwardly, he rose his hand up to her back, hesitated, and then placed it gently between her shoulder blades. When she didn't burst back into tears or shove it away, Snape began rubbing it in small circles. "Relax, Miss Granger, it will pass faster this way." He remembered when he use to do this to Draco when he was younger, before he'd gotten that cold, hardened look in his eye and stopped being able to cry.

Snape looked down at the young witch. Tear stains covered her pale cheeks, and she sniffled every so often against his robes. For some reason Snape found the action comforting instead of dissuading. Her hair was, as always, a curling mess but Snape was surprised to feel as he stroked her back, it was very soft and tickled the back of his hand. Her body tentatively relaxed against his till her head lay heavily on his chest. She still refused to release her arms from around her waist.

Sighing, Snape conceded that it may not be the best strategy to keep himself as distanced and uninvolved as he'd planned to. Perhaps, for once, the authoritative figure could be pushed aside and they could try to be…_friends, _sounded like a stretch, but they could be partners couldn't they? It wasn't exactly professional but hell, what about this situation _was_? Beside, she was technically his apprentice – that title alone merited some sort of connection past that of student and teacher. _Yes, _he thought, they could be partners, associates, and perhaps in time, allies.

"Miss—" _No, _he thought, _we are not student and teacher, we are master and apprentice… partners. _

"_Hermione,_" he amended, and she tilted her head slightly, a question in her eyes. "Please," Snape bit out, his unoccupied hand now gently tugging the arms wrapped tightly around her middle, "Trust me. I know I haven't exactly earned it in the past, but please, let go. I…_regret_, not healing your ribs earlier, but I need to see them now."

Uncertainly clouded her eyes and Snape could see she was biting her lip. _Merlin, yet another habit to break her of. _

Hermione flexed her hands once, her burned palm coming back to mind for the first time that night. She wanted to trust him, which was of course what it all came down to in the end, but images of all the times he'd sneered and demeaned her kept popping up in her mind. She was shaking now and her brow was burning up even as good bumps ran down her arms. She didn't know what to do. Another tear ghosted its way down her cheek and Hermione shut her eyes for a moment. Could the situation truly get any worse? Hermione didn't think so; what did she have to lose?

Hermione swallowed, making her silent decision, and then gently unwrapped her arms from around herself and let them slid up around Snape's neck; holding tight. This time, it was the Potion Master's turn to stiffen, which he did slightly, before recovering and then slowly moving to untuck the witch's plain dress shirt from her skirt. Unbuttoning the bottom four buttons, Snape gently parted the soft fabric that covered Hermione's stomach. He wasn't prepared for what he saw.

Dark, angry bruises of various colors overlapped each other, the injured section spanning the length of almost five inches wide all the way around her midsection. Lightly, he ran a long, pale finder across up her side where some of the darkest of the bruising was; Hermione whimpered and flinched, her eyes snapping shut.

"Merlin, Hermione," Snape breathed, the guilt in his gut increasing ten fold. He should have healed her that first night; it wouldn't be so bad now if she had at least been healed a little. "I have to check to see if you've fractured any of your ribs," Snape said, his voice hushed. Considering the intensity and the fact that she'd re-injured herself repeatedly over the last few weeks, Snape wouldn't be surprised if she had. The only acknowledgement Hermione gave that she heard Snape was a barely perceivable nod of her head into the crook of his neck.

Trailing his wand lightly across her skin, Snape found three hairline fractures –two on her left side and one on her right- plus some pretty deep tissue bruising throughout her midsection. Muttering softly, Snape coaxed the bones back together and then knit them neatly in place. Hermione's eyes didn't so much as flutter. Then, wordlessly summoning some Bruise Banishing salve, Snape began the slow process of coating Hermione's midsection in the clear, mint-smelling paste and then waiting as it slowly absorbed into her skin while healing it.

At first, Hermione held her breath as Snape calmly applied the chilled salve, but then slowly she relax into mind numbing contentedness under the Potion Master's patient ministrations. Her spasms finally seemed to be tapering off into little quakes of nothingness and, for the first time in what seemed like forever, Hermione felt strangely at peace; safe, warm, and _content._

_He called me by my name, _she thought sleepily, a little smile gracing her lips, _he called me Hermione. _

The fire crackled in the otherwise silent chamber as Snape finished and set the jar of salve aside.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione muttered sleepily, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"…Severus," she heard him correct after a moment, and her eyes blinked open dazedly in surprise. "If we are to be on a first name basis, it would make sense that the action be mutual," the Potions Master said, clearing his throat as if slightly unsure of himself, "my name is Severus."

Hermione nodded softly against him chest again, her eyes sinking shut. "Severus, nice to meet you. My name's Hermione."

The corners of Snape's mouth twitched once and he silently shook his head. This little slip of a witch alone had caused him more trouble and grief than an entire class of first-years could in a year's time. Her temper both annoyed and captivated him, her stubbornness was foolish yet admirable, her manner was both soft-spoken and outspoken; so brilliant in theory, but so naive in experience. Merlin, how Hermione Granger infuriated and…delighted him.

Severus scowled a little down at the petite witch that was currently curled up against him; her bushy hair cushioning her head against his chest, slender hands hooked loosely around his neck, legs bent comfortably up against his side. His silently watched the steady rise and fall of her chest and the way the once-frantic pulse in her neck now beat slow and softly. He knew she was falling deeper and deeper into sleep but for some reason couldn't bring himself to shake her awake from her blissful escape. He didn't want to be the one to cause her any more pain, he didn't want to be the one who she couldn't trust, but perhaps most of all, he didn't want to be the one she ran away from when she was in trouble.

**_,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-.,.-''-._**

_**As I've said before, I was really nervous about posting this chapter just because it's such a big change compared to everything else I've written thus far. I hope it flowed alright. **_

_**And yes, I know a few of you were really looking forward to seeing how Draco played a part in this chapter but I wanted to get Severus and Hermione situated before I moved on. In the later chapters, I plan on having nearly an entire 'scene' completely circling a Hermione/Draco confrontation but you have to remember - Draco is avoiding Hermione and we don't know why ;) tell ya later. **_

**Other than that, I hope you enjoyed and I shall begin on the next chapter!**

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_Review damn you! I know you're there!!_

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**Updating two days later... **_**Wow. I had almost fifteen messages from FF the day after I uploaded this chapter and I was so happy, and relieved, to see that so many of you approve of the way this story is going. **_

_**Throwing this out there - my record for a single chapter is 27 reviews (chapter 12, I believe) so... help me beat my record?**_** That would be _awesome. _**_Right now I think we're at... 21 reviews :) okay, that was my annoying author note of the day. Have a great Monday (no classes for meeee!). __  
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(A week later).

_Wow, yeah I definitely broke my record... as it is, Chapter 16 has about 34 reviews alone. I'm so stunned I think it's triggering writer's block. (which is yet another reason I keep adding on to these author notes). I really don't have a lot to say...I'm just bored and need **something** to write. _What to write, what to write? _I have a mini-Draco scene that should answer some questions...done with that. But then I'm stuck... damn it. _


	17. NO REQUIRED TO READ

**coming soon...**


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